


all i know is we said hello and your eyes looked like coming home

by missparker



Category: Holby City
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Angst, Christmas, Drinking, F/F, Flirting, Mutual Pining, Nurses & Nursing, Prompt Fic, Sex Toys, Sexual Assault, Sharing a Bed, Tropes, Tumblr Prompt, Unresolved Sexual Tension, World War II, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-08-30 14:44:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 94,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8537128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missparker/pseuds/missparker
Summary: I asked for prompts on Tumblr! I got so many! I've going to post them all here as I write them and give them Taylor Swift titles and I'm going to have zero regrets about all of it.





	1. we play dumb but we know exactly what we’re doing

**Author's Note:**

> zhouyi asked for: _a continuation of the back massage scene. so awkward. so touch._

“No, no, I don't think this chair is doing you any favors,” Serena says after a moment. “And stop holding your breath!”

“Sorry,” Bernie blurts. She'd been trying to ignore the feeling of Serena touching her. Not to smell her light perfume, maybe even just her hand lotion. Not floral or cloying but something light and happy and clean. 

“We need to find a bed,” Serena says. 

“What?” Bernie says jerking away. She hisses in pain, Serena lets Bernie’s scrub top fall back into place.

“I can't get any leverage like this,” Serena says. “I say some pain relief and then let me really work on the muscle. See if we can't get it to loosen up a bit.”

“No,” Bernie says. “That’s not at all necessary.”

She stands, or tries too, but ends up on her feet, bent at the waist. She steadies herself with a hand on the desk. 

“Bernie,” Serena says as patiently as she can muster, which seems to be not very. “I can see the muscle spasming. You are obviously in pain. Let me help you.” 

It does hurt. There is no denying that. She isn’t even sure she can slink home. She isn’t sure she can drive or even get into her car by herself. 

“I want to,” Serena says now, her voice soft and low. “I rather prefer you in one piece.” 

“Fine,” Bernie says. “Where?”

“On call room, I should think,” Serena says. 

They’d have to leave the office, walk past the nurse’s station, beyond the open door of the break room and then hope that no one was actually on call or just trying to cram a nap into their break. 

“People will see,” Bernie says, fretting over showing signs of weakness. She’s still new here, and everyone knows she only came to be here because she’d been blown up. Wrecked her spine, had her heart in Oliver Valentine’s hands. Already, that was too much and now she has to hobble through the ward on Serena’s arm like an old woman?

“Let them think what they want,” Serena says, opening the office door and coming over to take Bernie’s elbow. “Though I think we’re safe, as I tend to actually enforce the no sex rule with actual consequences, because I run a hospital ward, not a brothel.”

Bernie stills and stares at Serena in some horror. “Oh! No… I just meant… I meant me.” 

Serena blushes. “Of course. Yes. Of course you did.” Gives Bernie a pained smile. “Okay, soldier, here we go.” 

No one says anything and Bernie can’t be sure who even sees them because she’s looking at her feet and Serena’s hand on her arm and nothing else. The on call room is in fact empty. It’s really more of a closet, and the bed is rumpled. Serena closes the door behind them and then moves around Bernie to the bed. She pulls the blanket up, yanking it smooth. Turns the pillow over to the cool side. 

“Okay,” she says. “Usually I’d buy you a glass of wine first, but in the interest of time, I need you to take your top off.”

“Serena-”

“Stop fighting me, Bernie, I swear we’d be done already if you’d just-”

“Serena,” Bernie says interrupting her. “I don’t think I can.” 

“Oh-” She bites her lip. “I’m going to get you an ice pack. Let’s ice it for a bit and see if that… stay here.” And then she’s gone. 

Bernie looks around and then eases herself down onto the narrow bed. Uses her feet to kick her trainers off and eases her legs up onto the mattress. 

Gasps with pain, curls into herself. That’s how Serena finds her. 

“However did you let it get this bad?” Serena asks, setting something on the dinged up nightstand next to them. A paper cup, the ice pack, a bottle of water. She’d been thinking about how she was going to refuse the pain relief and now all she can think about is how she wants it in her body as soon as possible. 

“I think it’s the futon,” she admits, too focused on not whimpering to lie. 

Serena perches on the edge of the bed and reaches out. “Turn over,” she coaxes. 

Bernie presses her face into the pillow and tries to comply. Serena leans over and snags the ice pack, already activated and holds it against Bernie’s back, rubbing her shoulder blade with her free hand. 

“You’re too old for a futon,” she says kindly enough. “Get a real bed.” 

“Not really in a position to argue,” Bernie mumbles into the pillow. 

The ice helps, but Serena’s hand rubbing circles on her back is just as soothing. They sit for long minutes - five, maybe ten in a not uncomfortable silence. Serena’s hand moves from her back to her hair. She strokes Bernie’s head twice and says, “Shall we try sitting up?” 

The ice has helped and she sits up and takes her medicine. 

“Good,” Serena says. “Okay, top off Ms. Wolfe.”

“Not how I pictured this going,” Bernie says, struggling a little but getting her arm out of the sleeve. The rest comes easier.

“Ah, but you have pictured it,” Serena says with a smirk. 

Bernie stutters. “Ah… w-well…”

Serena just smiles and helps her navigate the top over her head.

Bernie’s got on a nude coloured sports bra - something she’s carried over from her previous line of work. She finds them way more comfortable and forgiving of long, stressful shifts. Serena looks but does not react as they are trained to do as professionals. 

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a silver tube of something. Hand cream. 

“Lie down,” she says. 

“It’s already better,” Bernie says. “The ice and the tablets, I think-”

“Lie down,” Serena says again in a tone that does not invite continued arguing. She flips open the top of the cream and squirts some onto her hands. Bernie lies back down on her front. Serena rubs her hands together and there’s that clean, happy smell again. 

Serena spends a good amount of time on her. It’s awful at first because she really does work on the worst bit, trying to get the muscle to relax but after a while, it does relax and then when it stops hurting so bad it starts to feel… rather nice. 

Serena sweeps her hand across Bernie’s entire lower back a few times and then up her spine. Pauses at a little knot she finds and applies some pressure.

Bernie groans.

“Good or bad?” Serena asks. 

“A good bad,” she says into her arms. 

“Exquisite torture,” Serena says fondly. “My favorite kind.”

She rubs along Bernie’s spine, up past the sports bra and across her shoulders, the base of her neck. 

“I’m just indulging myself now,” Serena admits, brushing her hair aside. “Do you ever just go along for awhile and realize it’s been ages since you’ve touched someone?”

Bernie stills and Serena’s hand pulls away.

“Sorry, I-” Serena says but Bernie turns over. It’s easy. She’s sore now but the sharp pain, the pain that was making her breath catch, that’s gone. She looks at Serena, offers her a small smile. 

“I don’t like to be touched,” Bernie admits. “I didn’t come from a very tactile family.”

“Oh,” Serena says. “And here I am just making you miserable for my own selfish…” She falters. “I…”

“No,” Bernie says, shaking her head. “That isn’t what I meant. I just meant I don’t like it, usually, but this was… you’re very good with your hands, Ms. Campbell.” 

Bernie reaches out, takes one of Serena’s soft, fragrant hands between both of her own. 

“You have beautiful hands,” Bernie says. 

Serena smiles genuinely for a moment and then it becomes more of a smirk.

“Drugs kicking in now, Berenice?”

“Oh yes,” Bernie says with a laugh. “You gave me the good stuff.”

“Only the best for you, dearest,” Serena says. She slips her hand away and after only the smallest hesitation, gives Bernie’s flat stomach a pat. “Rest up here for awhile and then I’ll drive you home.”

“Thank you,” Bernie murmurs and closes her eyes. 

Serena stays until she falls asleep.


	2. you’re still all over me like a wine-stained dress i can’t wear anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nervouspearl asked for: _5 times Serena manages to pretend she doesn’t care and 1 time she fails?_
> 
> deviltakehimback asked for _Ahem. I, for one, back anything to do with Serena “not caring” to the point that she almost has a hernia._

_i._

Bernie comes back on a Wednesday and Serena only knows this because when she gets to work Bernie is already there. No phone call, no text, no bloody pigeon with a note tied to its leg. She stands at her desk and angrily dials Hanssen before she remembers he’s gone, too. She lowers the phone. She’s certainly not calling Ric to complain. Ric who knows she’s been seeing Bernie, Ric who is all too aware of how she’s been burned. 

She sees Bernie before Bernie sees her and that’s a small blessing. Bernie is across the ward, leaning over a patient. She looks just the same. Tall, thin. Blonde hair, a little shorter than she remembers. Serena can see so much neck. Apparently she had time to get a haircut but not three seconds to text Serena that she wasn’t dead in a gutter somewhere. 

Serena clenches her teeth so hard her jaw starts to ache. 

Then she runs to hide on Keller. 

She’d come in nearly an hour early to try to stay on top of paperwork. She’s been doing that, at least, since Bernie left. She’d gone soft, having a co-lead. She’d started to depend on Bernie professionally as well as allowing herself to get hopelessly tangled up personally. Well, no longer. That is all over. She doesn’t need Bernie constantly stirring the shit pot that is her life. She doesn’t need the drama and the heartache and she certainly doesn't need a professional crutch. She’ll make Bernie regret ever coming back to Holby. She’ll make sure Bernie knows that she’s not needed.

To Serena, it will be as if Bernie isn’t even there. 

It’s Essie that finds her sulking on the wrong ward as the clock ticks closer and closer to the beginning of her shift. She’s in the break room, drinking Keller’s coffee in one of Keller’s mug, thinking about how she misses working on Keller not even slightly. 

“Ms. Campbell,” Essie says coming in, smiling at her. “Fancy seeing you here! You look…” She trails off. 

“What?” Serena says.

“You look upset,” Essie says. “Everything all right?”

“Yes,” Serena says, staring into her coffee mug. And then, “No.” 

“You want to chat about it?” Essie asks. 

“No,” Serena says knowing she’s acting ridiculous but she can’t hardly help it, can she? She’d stop if she could. “Wait…”

“Go on,” Essie says, sitting down next to Serena on the couch. 

“How do you manage it?” Serena asks. “Working every day with someone you used to love?”

“Ah,” Essie says. “So the rumors are true. She’s back.”

Serena frowns. There’s no point in denying it. _Kissed the girl and made her cry._ Everyone knows already. From the porters on up. Half the patients, too probably. The long term ones, the ones who stay for weeks and watch them all like they’re a soap on the telly. 

“She is,” Serena confirms.

“Just because Sacha and I aren’t together anymore doesn’t mean I don’t still love him,” Essie says. “You can’t just turn it off. You just have to figure out how to work around it.” 

Serena sits up. “That’s it! The schedule. I’ll put her on nights!” She smiles at Essie. “Thank you, you’re a genius.”

“Oh, that’s not what I…” 

But Serena doesn’t hear the end of the sentence. 

She’ll make Bernie’s life so miserable that she quits. A month worth of night shifts might do it. And let her complain. Let her bitch about it until she’s blue in her beautiful face. 

Serena won’t care at all. 

 

_ii._

Bernie doesn’t complain about the night shifts. She tries to talk to Serena exactly twice and Serena blows her off both times and then she doesn’t try that again. 

She tries to get Serena to talk to her via email. Serena responds to the one work related query and ignores the rest. Bernie doesn’t try that again either. 

Serena gets four text messages.

_Can we talk?_

_I know I messed up, tell me what to do to right it_

_You can’t ignore me forever, Campbell_

_I’m so sorry, Serena. I’m here if you change your mind._

And then nothing for over a week. 

Serena thinks that’s horseshit, by the way. Making it her responsibility to reopen communication when Serena had tried to get in touch with Bernie for the entirety of the secondment only to get absolutely nothing in return. She can try harder than two brush offs, one email, and four sniveling texts. 

Serena arrives to work this morning already in a foul mood. She hasn’t been sleeping well, life without Hanssen runs not quite as smoothly and the things piling up are starting to weigh on her. Ric keeps trying to push more and more off on Serena until she snaps one day and screeches “I’m not your deputy!” in the middle of a meeting and that’s a whole other thing that has to be dealt with. Ric’s condescending tone as he gently scolds her. The sheer force of will it takes not to flip him off and quit her job in a rage.

No, no, she won’t let Bernie Wolfe drive her away. They’ll have to haul her corpse out in a hearse before that happens.

“Maybe you need a vacation,” Raf offers Friday night. “Some place relaxing.”

“Mind your own, Mr. Di Lucca,” she says, not looking up from the patient chart she’s been trying to update for the better part of thirty minutes, except she keeps getting interrupted. This time by Raf’s idle chatter. 

“We can manage a couple days without you,” Raf says anyway. “Besides, now that Ber…” He stops himself but it’s too late.

“No, go on,” Serena says coldly. “Now that Bernie’s back, what?”

“She could just cover your days, that’s all,” Raf says, looking nervous now. “You could rest.”

“I don’t need rest,” Serena says. “I just need everyone to be competent and professional.” 

She slams the patient chart closed. 

“Serena,” Raf says quietly. “Please talk to her.”

“That’s quite enough out of you,” Serena had said and he’d backed off, in the end.

Now it’s Monday, she’d spent most of the weekend with Jason watching his shows and doing domestic errands. Grocery shopping, dry cleaning. Cleaning the bathrooms, running the vacuum. They’d gone out to dinner Saturday evening and bought a Christmas tree. Decorated it Sunday - well, she had. He’d watched and criticized but had also asked some questions about the different ornaments and she’d gotten to reminisce a little. That had been somewhat fun.

The office is empty, though it feels only very recently vacated. Bernie’s computer is off, hers is on. On her desk, a cup of coffee from downstairs. Still piping hot. 

Under it a little note in Bernie’s handwriting - _Good luck today._

Serena’s heart flutters but she scowls at herself. A weak reaction. 

Tuesday, tea and a pastry. She eats the pastry, drinks the tea. Had consumed the coffee as well because no sense in wasting it at all, but she’d made sure to chuck the rubbish into a bin across the ward. Bernie didn’t have to _know_ she’d done it. 

Wednesday a clear glass vase and a single flower. A gerbera daisy, obviously from a florist. Bright orange. It does cheer up the office a bit. Still, she relocates it over onto Bernie’s desk.

Thursday, a decadent truffle. It’s huge. It tastes like espresso in the center. She nibbles at it all day, taking slivers with her front teeth and letting it melt away on her tongue. It’s sinfully good, she feels like she needs to pray after every taste. Gratitude, forgiveness, forbearance, she’ll ask for it all. 

She forgets to throw the wrapper away outside the office. She doesn’t realize it until she’s home in bed. 

Friday, she actually sees Bernie. Her shift had run long due to trauma surgery, so while Serena is handling the shift turnover, Bernie is still working to save a life. After Serena’s been there an hour and they’re still not out, she sighs and knows she has to go check on things. 

She watches from the window for a few minutes. Bernie’s back is to her. Finally, she reaches up and pushes the intercom button.

“Ms. Wolfe,” she says, stern and professional. She can see Bernie’s shoulders tense.

“What?” she says after only a moment. 

“You’ve been in there for hours. Do you need my assistance?” She pauses and then pushes on. “Would you like some relief?”

But Bernie shakes her head. “We’re nearly done.”

Serena isn’t around when Bernie leaves. But when she gets back to her office after rounds, there’s something on her desk.

A brightly coloured painted egg. 

Serena’s souvenir from Kiev, no doubt.

She sweeps it into her desk drawer and slams the drawer closed. 

 

 _iii._

Serena had hired Bernie’s son both as a gift and a punishment. Bernie has a lot of self-doubt, anyone who talks to her for thirty seconds about something other than medicine can see that right away. Motherhood is one of her most tender spots, so Serena hires Cameron to act as a balm and Serena hires Cameron to give that tender spot a good, sharp poke. 

But Cameron works days with her, not nights with his mother. There’s no rule about it - in some ways, medical aptitude is a genetic gift. Guy and Dr. March, Mo and Adele, even Jac and Jasmine. 

Serena had spent a great deal of effort on coaxing Elinor toward med school. She’d wanted a theatre degree. 

Cameron is bright kid, a little behind his peers age wise but working hard to get caught up. He’s not afraid to ask for help which is a sign of real maturity. She’s seen too many F1 and F2s nearly kill someone because they thought they had to know everything already. She’s starting to like him a little bit, Bernie’s boy. So when he knocks on her office door one morning she waves him on in and lets him drop into his mother’s desk chair. This is not a liberty she’d let very many people in his position take. 

He sits for a moment and then chuckles. “Smells like her.”

Serena looks up sharply and says, “What is it that you need, Dr. Dunn?” 

“Nothing,” Cameron says and then shakes his head. “No. That’s not true. I wanted to ask you about Jason.”

Serena pulls herself away from her computer and gives him her full attention. He looks like his father, such a relief. She’s never met Charlotte, never even seen a photograph. She wonders if they both took after Marcus or if Charlotte is fair and blonde and made of the sun like her mother. 

“What about Jason?” she says.

“Well, I’ve been thinking that perhaps I might invite him to hang out sometime,” Cameron says. “He’s a funny bloke, smart as a whip. But not much of a social life, yeah?”

Serena narrows her eyes. “You don’t need to ask my permission, Jason is his own man as he’ll be the first to tell you.”

“Not permission,” Cameron says. “Advice. People can be awful, right? He’s told me as much. I want to invite him round to do something without him thinking I’m having a laugh at his expense, so I thought if it’s something he’d really like to do… but what that is, I’m not sure.”

Serena’s heart goes soft. 

“Like, drinks or rugby probably isn’t going to…”

“Documentaries,” Serena says. “Or museums. He likes to learn and not to be overstimulated. No crowds.” 

“Museums,” Cameron says thoughtfully. “That’s a good idea.” 

Serena smiles at him, turns back to her computer.

“Lottie comes home next week, maybe we could take him into London?” he asks.

“Your sister?” Serena asks before she can help it.

“Yeah, it’s all a disaster as usual. She wants to spend it with dad, I want to split the time. Mum likes to be a martyr so she’s keeps saying she’s happy to spend Christmas alone or here but there’s no reason we can’t just…” Cameron stops. “Sorry.”

Serena shrugs. “It’s all right.”

“I shouldn’t talk to you about her,” he says standing up. “I’ve promised not to meddle.” 

“Start out small with Jason,” Serena says. “Change isn’t easy for him.”

“Thanks,” Cameron says and pulls open the door to the office. Stops and turns back around. “She is sorry, you know. I mean genuinely.”

“Out,” she says shooing him away with her hand. “Out of my sight.” 

He rolls his eyes and leaves.

Bernie should spend Christmas alone. 

What does Serena care about that? She doesn’t. Not one tiny bit. 

 

_iv._

Elinor comes home for Christmas. Serena asks casually about if she’s planning to see her father, and Elinor brushes it off, but Serena can infer from the situation is that Edward is shacked up with some woman that Elinor doesn’t get along with and that it is all less about her daughter’s loyalty to her mother and more about avoiding a confrontation elsewhere. 

She ends up having lunch with her father the day before Christmas Eve while Serena is at work and stops by the hospital after. Edward has given her money in lieu of a gift. She shows Serena the check.

“He thinks he can buy my love,” Elinor complains, sitting in Bernie’s chair.

“Oh cash it,” Serena says. “It’s the least he could do.”

Elinor smirks, folds the check and tucks it into her handbag. 

The office door opens and Bernie comes in, stops and says, “Oh.”

The holiday has really mucked up the schedule and there was just no way around the overlap. They’re running mostly on agency nurses and Raf is out with the flu that apparently has stricken down most of the kids too. Fletch looks like he’s on the absolute edge of everything. 

“Hi,” Elinor says brightly.

“Er,” Bernie says. 

“I’m Ellie,” Elinor says. She glances at Serena who has not looked up. “I’m her daughter.”

“Yes,” Bernie says. “I can well see that.” 

Serena feels her face go hot. She still doesn’t look up.

“I’m Dr. Wolfe,” Bernie says. “Bernie.”

“Oh,” Elinor says. “Oh.”

“Ah, yes,” Bernie says.

Serena says nothing as pointedly as she can. 

“I’ll come back,” Bernie says and leaves.

“ _Mum_ ,” Elinor says scandalized. 

“I don’t want to hear it,” Serena says. 

“That’s her though,” Elinor insists. “She’s the lady that made you lose your damn mind for two months!”

“I was just overworked, you know that,” Serena says.

“She’s so _pretty_ ,” Elinor says. “Jesus.” 

“Enough, thank you very much,” Serena says. She hasn’t told Elinor about the extent of things. About the floor of the operating theatre, about how slowly and deliriously she’d fallen, how she’d made such a fool of herself. She’d only told Elinor bits and pieces - that Bernie had become her close friend and then she’d left. Still, Elinor might be flighty and superficial and slightly vain but she’s not an idiot. Also, she’s been in the hospital for more than ten minutes, so who knows what gossip she’s picked up? Serena looks steadfastly at her monitor. 

“Mum,” Elinor says more gently now. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Serena looks up at this, her mouth opening a little. Elinor looks earnest enough.

“Not now,” Serena settles on. “Why don’t you go down to the cafe and get us some tea, hmm? Could you do that, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” Elinor says. “Course.” 

Jason and Elinor make lunch plans on Christmas Eve which is just as well as Serena plans to stay in all day and cook. She’s given herself today and tomorrow off. Bernie is working today and is on call tomorrow, not that Serena cares anything about that. 

The doorbell rings just afternoon and Serena is the closest so she answers it. 

It’s Cameron and another young woman.

“Ah, so you’re the thief here to whisk my children away from me,” Serena says. 

Cameron grins and says, “Just for a few hours.” 

She turns to look at the pretty woman and says, “Serena Campbell.” She reaches out her hand.

The woman takes it, shakes and says, “I’m Charlotte.”

Of course she is because she’s beautiful. Tall and blonde and made of the sun. Just like her goddamn mother. 

Serena lets them into her home, offers them refreshments and then makes small talk with the four of them. They are going to lunch and then the cinema. They will be home in time for supper. 

“Can Cameron and Charlotte stay for our special Christmas dinner?” Jason asks. “Auntie Serena always makes enough food for several more people than is necessary.”

“That’s a nice offer,” Cameron says. “We couldn’t intrude.”

“It’s not an intrusion,” Jason points out. “You are already here. Intrusions are unwanted.”

“What he means is that they probably already have plans,” Elinor says.

“Do you have plans?” Jason asks.

“Sort of,” Cameron says. 

Jason looks over at Serena with some confusion.

“Please,” Jason implores.

“You are certainly welcome, but don’t feel obligated,” Serena says.

“What about mum?” Charlotte asks.

“Their mum is Dr. Bernie,” Jason announces. “She could come to!” 

“I don’t think so,” Cameron says.

“Oh please,” Jason says again. “I like Dr. Bernie very much and I never get to see her anymore. Please?”

“Jason,” Elinor says helplessly. Everyone looks over at her. “It’s complicated.”

“Everyone always says that,” he says. “But Auntie Serena, you always say you don’t care about Dr. Bernie. If you don’t, then why should you care if she comes or not?”

Cameron snorts and when Serena glances at him sharply he just shrugs. “Logical, though, isn’t it?”

“All right, she is certainly welcome to come,” Serena says. Because isn’t that the ultimate test of not caring? If she can spend the whole evening with Bernie and show her how very much she doesn’t care, well, that will feel like a victory. “Invite her if you want.”

Jason grins. Cameron and Elinor exchange worried glances. Charlotte just looks mildly confused.

In the end, they don’t stay for dinner and Bernie doesn’t come.

Serena knows she’s losing her own battle when the wave of disappointment crashes over her. 

 

_v._

New Years Eve. The eye of the storm for a place like AAU. They’ve survived the first wave of drunken, accident prone revelers but the night is young and Serena knows the worst is yet to come. The red phone rings as if on cue and Fletch answers, says it’s a car accident and they’re thirty minutes out. 

“Where in the bloody hell is Ms. Wolfe?” she asks. It’s not like Bernie to ignore the red phone. It’s the whole point of why she hangs around the damn place. 

Morven looks sympathetically toward the exit. “The loo, still, I think?”

“What?” Serena says. “What do you mean?”

“She’s not feeling well,” Morven says. “Been throwing up all day.”

“What?” Serena asks. “Why didn’t she go home?”

“Because you threatened to sack anyone who dared try call off today!” Morven says. “You shouted that across the ward!”

“Right,” Serena says. “But she’s different obviously.”

Morven looks hopeful. “Is she?”

“She’s a consultant,” Serena says. “That’s all I meant. And we can’t have her parking the tiger all over patients, now can we?”

Morven scrunches up her nose. “She said it wasn’t the flu, she said it was just a migraine.” 

“Well someone needs to go tell her to suck it up,” Serena says, snatching the tablet out of Morven’s hand to look over her patient’s scans. 

“Ms. Campbell,” Morven says chidingly. “That’s not like you.” 

“It certainly is,” Serena bristles. “I run a tight ward.”

“You taught me that AAU is a family that takes care of one another,” Morven says. “You have to be careful. You’re going to not care so hard about Bernie that you stop caring about anything at all. That’s a danger when you lose someone you love. At least, that’s what the therapist told me when I lost Arthur.”

Serena sets the tablet on the counter and reaches out, touches Morven’s arm. 

“It’s all right,” Serena says. 

“It’s not,” Morven says, her voice sounding watery now, her eyelashes fluttering dangerously fast. “Nothing here is all right. It’s been awful forever and you’re miserable and she’s miserable and we’re all miserable because of it!” 

“Okay, okay,” Serena says. “Go take five minutes. We have a trauma coming in, all right? I need clear heads. I will go check on Ms. Wolfe.” 

Morven swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand and nods. “Okay.” 

“Good girl,” Serena says. 

No question about which stall Bernie’s in. Serena can hear the retching the moment she opens the door. 

She waits for it to stop. 

“No flush?” Serena asks. 

After a while, Bernie says, “Nothing left to throw up, really.” 

“That’s the worst,” Serena says. 

“Honestly, I’m hard pressed to decide on what’s actually the worst right now,” Bernie says. “The vomiting? The blinding pain? The light sensitivity is no laughing matter.” 

“Why didn’t you say something?” Serena asks. “We could’ve tried to find a replacement.”

“Because you won’t speak to me, Serena,” Bernie says. 

Serena bends over, peers under the closed door. She can see Bernie sitting on the floor. Her white trainers, her dark blue trauma scrubs. Just her limbs, not her face. 

“I’ll call up to neuro, try to get someone to write you a script. Something to get you through the evening.”

“That’s the worst,” Bernie says.

“What?”

“You won’t speak to me. That’s the worst part. Every day. The worst. Not the headache,” Bernie says. 

Serena crosses her arms. “I can’t do this right now. We have a trauma coming in any minute. Please just take what they give you so you can get off the floor and help me.”

“Whatever you say,” Bernie says. 

Serena hears a thump. Bernie’s head hitting the wall of the stall. 

Serena leaves, calls up to neuro, makes sure someone is coming right down. 

Can’t think about Bernie because the trauma comes in, three kids in a car accident. Even forgets about Bernie for a while until she finally comes in, joins Serena in theatre and then takes over so Serena is free to go work on another patient. 

Only much later, does she think about Morven’s words. How not caring about Bernie takes so much effort, about how she has to not care about so many things to maintain it. How tired she is all the time, how very weary. 

How the moment, the moment she lets her guard down it all comes rushing back. Bernie, oh Bernie. You dumb fool. You coward. You beautiful, brilliant disaster.

Why did you leave me? Why did you go? Why did you come back all wrong?

No, no, no.

Close it up again. Put the lid on tight.

Seal it up, shut it off, send it on. Serena can do it, she knows she can. She’ll just have to try a little harder, that’s all. 

 

_vi._

Serena recognizes Charlotte again right away. She’s standing at the entrance, coat on and purse on her shoulder, looking around confused and overwhelmed. Hospital wards can be daunting places when you aren’t used to them. Serena would think a child like Charlotte would be - both parents doctors and her brother, too, but she looks as lost as a little lamb. 

“Miss Dunn?” Serena says, coming up to her. 

Charlotte smiles nervously. “Hello.”

“Serena,” Serena reminds her.

“Yes, I know,” she says. 

“You looking for your mum?” Serena asks. 

“Yeah,” Charlotte says. “At least, I think so. That was the plan, anyway but now… I should just go, I think, sorry to waste your time.”

“Not so fast,” Serena says, reaching out to snag her elbow. “Why don’t you come with me, have a quick chat.”

“I can see that you’re busy-”

“Your mum isn’t here,” Serena reassures her, leading them into the office. “Have a seat.” 

She sets her purse down, keeps her coat on. It must be raining outside because she looks a little damp. 

She looks like Bernie. The same dark, hooded eyes, the same long and skinny limbs. Charlotte is not quite as thin as her mother. Bernie came back from Kiev as thin as Serena has ever seen her and has not gained any of it back. Spends all her time leaving Serena scrummy little morsels and feeding nothing to herself. The last time Bernie had left a sandwich on Serena’s desk, Serena had left half for Bernie. 

“It’s nice to see you again,” Serena says sitting in her own seat. “Did you have a happy Christmas?”

“It was… different,” Charlotte says. “Everything is very odd these days.”

“I don’t think the first Christmas after my divorce was much fun for Ellie either,” Serena admits. “It takes time but you’ll adjust.” 

“It wasn’t that exactly.” She shakes her head. “It’s stranger having mum around, honestly.”

“Ah.”

“Cam said I should make an effort with her and I have been but she’s so…”

Charlotte stops, looks horrified. 

“Why am I telling you this?” she asks.

Serena smiles. “One of my gifts. I should’ve been a therapist or a minister, maybe.”

“We’re _not_ a family of talkers,” she says. 

“No kidding,” Serena says. 

“But I thought I should come here today,” she presses on. “Because mum is so sad and from what Jason and Elinor said, you’re the same?”

Serena sits back, sits up, straightens herself out. She’s all for listening to confessions but not about herself.

“It just all seems so senseless,” Charlotte says. “Love. What a waste of time.”

“I really don’t think that’s the lesson here,” Serena says.

“How is it not? Mum struggled through her marriage for years, mucked it all up with an affair and ended up alone and the moment she falls in love, really falls in the kind of love where you just… picture little birds flittering all about her head, she messes it up and ruins both of your lives and what was all that for, exactly? What’s the point?”

“Our lives are not ruined,” Serena says. “And why does love have to have a point in the first place?”

Charlotte rolls her eyes.

“No, I’m serious. Young people always have this long view of their whole lives and it’s always got to be happily ever after but that’s not how it works. Happiness comes in fits and spurts just like everything else. Love is work. Some days are good and some are bad and nothing is sustainable forever,” Serena says. “When you get to be our age you realize everything is really one day at a time.”

“Cam said I should forgive mum and I wasn’t sure I could,” Charlotte says. “I thought she needed to be punished but after this visit I know that there’s nothing I could ever do to punish her more than she’s being punished by herself. And you.” 

“Charlotte,” Serena says. “It’s complicated.”

“I know,” Charlotte says sadly. “C’est la vie.” 

Serena thinks about it all day, Charlotte’s visit. Even long after she’s gone. Even long after her shift should be winding down, through the shift change, through Bernie showing up for the night shift with a box in her hand. She seems surprised to see Serena in the office.

“It’s awfully late,” Bernie says. Not an accusation, just a statement. The question of what Serena is still doing there is embedded within. 

“What’s that?” Serena says, pointing to the box. 

“Nothing,” Bernie says, setting it down onto her chair and pushing the chair in.

“No, come on, let’s see it,” Serena says, pushing herself to her feet.

“It’s stupid,” Bernie says. 

“It’s my present for today?” Serena asks. Bernie, through all of it, has not stopped leaving her trinkets and bites and all sorts of things. Something every day. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Bernie says.

“Give it to me,” Serena says. “I want it.”

Bernie hesitates and then, her shoulders fall. She goes a little limp. She gives in.

“Fine,” she says. Pulls the box out and hands it to Serena, who sets it on her desk and looks it over. It’s not wrapped or tied. Just a white box with a lid. 

She pulls the lid off and looks inside. 

A silver frame with a photograph inside. 

Jason, Elinor, Cameron, and Charlotte.

“I took it at Christmas, when they were all in town. I meant to have it ready before now but you know how I am,” Bernie says. “A disaster when it comes to this sort of thing.”

Serena feels the tears well up. Slaps her hand over her mouth but it still doesn’t stop the sob. 

“Serena,” Bernie says sadly. 

Real tears, earnest tears, hot down her cheeks. It’s too _much_. She can’t do it anymore. 

She turns to Bernie but she’s already there, her open arms. Serena presses against her, feels those long skinny arms wrap around her, feels Bernie tuck Serena under her chin. Feels her drop a kiss on Serena’s head.

“I’m sorry,” Bernie says. Kisses her forehead. “I’m sorry.” Kisses her wet cheek. “I’m sorry.” 

Serena is the one that kisses her mouth. Tears and snot and all. 

“I’m sorry,” Bernie says when they part. 

“It’s all right,” Serena says, partly to Bernie, partly to reassure herself. “We’re all right now.”

She holds Bernie, who holds her back. They stand there for a long time.


	3. remember when you hit the breaks too soon?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roslin asked for: _hanssen playing matchmaker and face palming when bernie screws up_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> henrik hanssen: #1 highkey berena shipper

“Ms. Wolfe, a word?” Hanssen says. 

“They make shoes now,” Bernie says. “They have squeakers in the soles. I think they’re designed for toddlers who run away too much, but I bet we could special order you a pair.”

“Very droll,” he says. “Your office, if you please.” 

Serena is in theatre. Bernie still thinks of it as Serena’s office, still feels weird about occupying it when she isn’t there. Things are always better when Serena is beside her, is the conclusion Bernie is beginning to draw more and more frequently. She’s not sure Serena agrees…

She opens the door and lets Hanssen walk in first and then sits at her desk while he looms quietly above her. She points to the chair by the wall. 

“Please,” she says. 

“No thank you,” he declines. “I was merely hoping to check in with you regarding the new arrangement co-leading AAU.”

“Oh,” she says. “Well. I mean. Have you… have you checked in with Serena?”

“I have,” he says with a nod.

“What does she say?” Bernie asks.

“I’m interested in your opinion, Ms. Wolfe, not your opinion of her opinion,” he says.

“It’s fine,” Bernie says. “Perhaps unorthodox to share a ward, but fine.”

“Oh, on the contrary, Ms. Wolfe,” Hanssen says. “When I hired Ms. Campbell it was to co-lead Keller with Mr. Griffin.”

“Well, I… really?” Bernie asks.

“Really,” he says. 

“And then you gave her her own ward and made her a deputy?” Bernie asks. “Is that a little much?”

“Ms. Campbell is exceptionally capable, so much so that at no point did I question her workload or her ability to manage it,” Hanssen says. “I know, still, that she could manage it if she had to.”

“But she shouldn’t have to,” Bernie says.

He inclines his head. “No. Any error here was most certainly mine.” 

Bernie gives him the smallest smile. 

“This is an experiment,” Hanssen admits. “If it does not work, that’s something to address down the line but my suspicions are that you are quite well suited for Ms. Campbell. The yin to her yang, perhaps. I would like very much for this endeavor to be a success.”

“Me too,” Bernie says. 

“Do let me know how it’s going from time to time,” he says.

“Of course,” she agrees. He nods at her and leaves her be.

oooo

Bernie steps onto the lift, wrapped up in her big gray Holby sweatshirt, holding her paper cup of tea. 

The only other soul aboard is Henrik Hanssen. 

She knows she reeks of cigarette smoke and gives him a minute shrug. He does not react, except to say, “Ms. Campbell seemed overjoyed at the prospect of opening a trauma center with you.”

“Yes, I believe that was something she’d been wanting to improve since before I started here.” 

“A daunting task without you,” Hanssen says. “But together, I do believe you’ll shine.” The lift stops, the doors open. He steps off, spins on his heel to face her. “Good day, Ms. Wolfe.” 

“Bye,” she says. 

oooo

Serena and Bernie are in surgery together, trying to repair a ruptured spleen and lacerated liver. This job reminds her at least twice a day to never drink and drive. No she prefers to walk to the bar, to drink wine with Serena, to split a bottle and then take a taxi home. She drives to work a lot because she’s not a morning person, but she does live close enough to walk and walking through the cold and wet while bone weary is worth it for some extra time with Serena.

A fact that she will surely be taking to her grave. 

She and Serena are doing that thing that they do, where they’re talking to each other without talking. Communicating with their eyes, mostly, and sometimes half phrases.

“Just-” Serena says.

“Got it,” Bernie says, reaching in to hold the pancreas aside so Serena has more space to work.

“I need-”

“Clamp,” Bernie finishes. 

“Thanks,” Serena says.

This is when Bernie glances up, sees Hanssen standing at the viewing window, watching them. And is he… is that a smile? No, surely a trick of the light.

“Serena,” Bernie says softly. Serena looks up, her eyes all the darker and more lovely when they’re the only thing that Bernie can see of her face. Bernie winks, nods her head toward the window. 

Serena stops, turns to look over her shoulder and then back to the open cavity.

“How can we help you, Mr. Hanssen?” she calls. Bernie can’t see Serena’s smile, but she can see it in her eyes and hear it in her voice. That ever present smirk, that sassiness that radiates from her that Bernie finds oh so attractive. She wishes she didn’t. She wishes she could just-

“I came down to check on the progress of the construction for your new trauma facility,” Hanssen says through the intercom. 

“Bernie’s trauma facility,” Serena says.

“Ours,” Bernie answers. 

“I’m quite happy with the progress,” Hanssen says. 

“Uh huh,” Serena says. And then to the nurse, “Sutures.” 

“Please don’t hesitate to come speak to me should you need something,” he says. “Separately or together. Either is fine.”

“We’re a little busy here, Henrik, could this possibly wait?” Serena calls. Bernie snorts. The nurses titter. 

“Yes, of course,” he says. “My door is always open.”

“Fan-tastic,” Serena says. Rolls her eyes. Bernie smiles. 

oooo

Serena is asleep in the on-call room. That had taken some doing, both the convincing her to have a rest and then having her actually enter the room and lie down, once she’d verbally agreed. She’s so tired, it’s obvious to everyone, even Bernie who is not particularly good about noticing things about people who aren’t currently on her operating table. 

Poor Digby’s funeral only yesterday and the fallout from the accident has left them all wrung out, running on fumes. Bernie is best at it, another dead obvious fact. She has a lot of experience doing a lot with very little. The most training, the most hours logged. And here at this NHS hospital, they have a lot, even if most of the employees don’t think so. They have a roof, sterile instruments. They never have to perform a delicate, life saving surgery in the back of a moving truck. 

But none of that diminishes the work they’ve all done in the last 48 hours, none of that makes anyone’s tiredness any less real. 

Bernie, having made certain that Serena is tucked in and not to be disturbed for at least thirty minutes (an hour would be better), retreats to the office and sits down into Serena’s chair with a groan. She has her own chair, of course, but this side of the office smells more like Serena. She likes it better. It feels… intimate to sit in Serena’s chair. 

A sharp courtesy knock and then someone pushes into the office. Hanssen holding two cups from downstairs, one stacked on top of the other. He looks at her for a moment. She stares back.

“You have had a trying time, I am sure,” he says when the silence starts to drag on. He takes one cup off the other and holds them in both hands. “Tea. For you and Ms. Campbell.”

“Tea?” she says, confused.

“Tea,” he confirms. 

“Ah,” she says. 

He sets one cup on Serena’s desk in front of her. 

“Ta,” she says. 

“And Ms. Campbell is…?” he asks.

“On a much needed, well earned break,” she says. 

“Ah,” he says. “Perhaps you could pass this along to her when she returns.”

“All right,” she says. “Thank you, Mr. Hanssen.”

“No need to tell her it’s from me,” he says. “See you later, Ms. Wolfe.” 

Then out he goes.

“What an odd man,” Bernie says into the empty office. 

oooo

Bernie thinks about kissing Serena all the time now. 

She’s mostly certain that makes her a bad person. She ought to be thinking about Fletch, just hanging on by a thread, and his poor kids and Raf, who has taken on more than his fair share. She should be thinking about the man who hurt Fletch, and why he’d gotten so obsessed with her. The helicopter that had crashed into the hospital. 

How she’d been so, so weak. How she’d promised to herself that she wouldn’t slip again. How she’d rather have Serena as a platonic friend than not have her at all.

But no. She thinks about kissing her. Thinks about how she’d looked, sitting on that hard floor. Hair mussed, cheeks rosy, eyes watering. Her sweet words, her beautiful mouth. How Bernie had known that she shouldn’t, but then did anyway. 

Oh god. 

Serena had kissed her back.

She’s standing at the nurse’s station, holding a tablet, ostensibly reading patient test results, except her mind has wandered off again, right down the rabbit hole that was all lips and teeth and hot silky tongue and by the time Hanssen comes up to her, she’s just standing and staring at a dark screen.

“Ms. Wolfe?” he says. 

She looks up at him startled.

“Everything all right?” he asks. 

“Of course,” she says.

He looks at her quietly for a long moment and she worries, fleetingly, that he can see right into her. See what she’s thinking. See what they’d done. An absurd fear that he compounds by asking, “Where is Ms. Campbell?”

“Why?” Bernie asks defensively. “I mean, why would I know that?”

He raises a concerned brow.

“In theatre,” she says. “Serena is in theatre.”

He nods. 

She brings the results back up on her screen and stares at them, cheeks burning. 

After that she notices Hanssen on the ward all day long, much more than usual. She sees him watching her and then spies him with his eyes on Serena too. Something she notices only because she is also watching Serena for most of the day. They’re avoiding one another. 

Because they’d kissed and kissed. Sweetly at first, closed lips and clenching hands. Her fingers in Serena’s hair. 

But then they’d kept kissing. Tongues and whimpers. Bernie moving her lips across Serena’s jaw. Serena’s mouth hot on Bernie’s neck. If they hadn’t been in surgical gowns, Bernie would have absolutely tried to stick her hand up Serena’s blouse. 

They’d stopped, of course, when someone had banged into the theatre’s anteroom, activated the sink. They had scrambled apart, panting and wild eyed. 

She’d been wet for the rest of the day. 

And maybe she and Serena are avoiding one another now, maybe their heart rates have returned to normal rhythm and their blushes faded from their cheeks, but when she finally meets Serena’s gaze across the ward, she can see it.

Their eyes are still wild. 

Serena gives her a tiny smile and Bernie returns it.

She doesn’t see Hanssen again for the rest of the day. 

oooo

She wonders, exactly, when Hanssen had found out about the secondment. He hasn’t left her a lot of time to decide. If she says yes, she’ll only have a few days to sort things out.

She’s going to say no, but then Serena kisses her. Which is good. Kissing is fine. She could kiss Serena all day. It’s the other stuff that spooks her. How Serena keeps edging closer to emotional territory that Bernie is frankly unprepared for. Serena wants to kiss in a storage cupboard, in their office with the blinds drawn, out in the dark behind Albie’s, the asphalt slick with rain? Sure.

But feelings? Bernie doesn’t know what she’s feeling and she doesn’t want to know and she’s never going to try to find out, so she plants herself outside Hanssen’s office, the glossy brochure clutched in her sweaty hand. Knocks hard. 

“I’ll do it,” she says when she opens the door. “I’ll go.” 

Hanssen looks her over and then gestures for her to take a seat. She perches nervously on the edge of the chair. 

“We can talk things through, if you’d like, Ms. Wolfe,” he says.

“Talk through?” she asks. “There’s yes or there’s no and I’ve picked yes. What’s left to discuss?”

“Your responsibilities here at Holby Hospital, for instance,” he says. “AAU and the new trauma ward.”

“You said yourself Serena is your most capable employee,” she says. “We both know she doesn’t need me.” 

“The hospital may function in your absence,” he says. “Serena Campbell may not.” 

They stare one another down. Bernie’s eyes flicker away first. 

Stupid to assume that anything she and Serena were doing was a secret. Hanssen sees all. 

“She’ll be better off, I’d wager,” Bernie says.

Hanssen sighs. Removes his glasses, meticulously folding them and placing them parallel to the edge of his blotter. Then closes his eyes and uses two fingers to rub his temples. A rare crack in the facade of calm that surrounds the man. 

“I will send you on this secondment because I believe it is good for the hospital and good for your career, but I do so with the understanding that you will return,” he says.

“Well, I mean, it’s temporary, so…”

“No, I would like to hear you say it,” Hanssen says. “You will complete your work and you will return to her, Ms. Wolfe. Otherwise there is no value in sending you at all. Otherwise I lose both my trauma surgeon and will have to spend my valuable time and resources mopping up my vascular surgeon as well.”

“Henrik,” Bernie says helplessly.

“Say it, Ms. Wolfe or I will retract the offer completely,” he says, voice rising in volume. 

She bites her lip. Looks down at her hands. Pushes her fringe out of her eyes.

“I’ll come back,” she says, softly.

“And repair whatever damage the trauma may cause?”

She glares at him.

“That is your specialty, is it not?” he asks, returning his glasses to his face. He looks back at his computer dismissively and says, “That will be all.”

oooo

Serena emails her.

Bernie emails Hanssen.

When he replies, it’s from his personal email account and all it says is, _Remember your promise, Berenice._

Like she’s been chided by her grandfather. Or the Pope. Or Father Christmas. Guilt crawling hot up the back of her neck. 

She books a ticket home.


	4. broke your heart, i'll put it back together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> eclecticearthquakepersona asked for: _Serena plants one on bernie in the middle of the ward (or albies) after a conversation with Cameron about his mother’s fear of hurting people she loves_

Serena likes Cameron, which at first she thinks is a real tragedy. It goes totally against her plan of ignoring everything Bernie Wolfe forever for all time. Bernie Wolfe has brought her nothing but heartache and she doesn’t need that in her life. She works with all sorts of people she doesn’t like. She can do this. She’s survived Imelda and Ric Griffin on his bad days and Guy Self swanning about the place. She can survive Bernie Wolfe lurking around. 

But the more she gets to know Cameron, the more she learns about Bernie. The two are linked. There’s no way around it. Even when he’s talking about how she wasn’t there, he’s talking about her. 

When Serena says, “Where did you learn your suture technique, it’s lovely,” he tells her it was from his mother. 

He laughs like Bernie. A bark, like from a seal or, if one were to ask Jason, a goose. Loud and joyous and surprising. And rare. 

And he sulks like her too. Dark eyes, tense shoulders. Clipped words - if he can get anything out at all. He has to be coaxed off the ledge.

He’s not bad in a crisis, either. Handy when a trauma comes in, not afraid to get his hands dirty. A take charge kind of guy.

He doesn’t get involved in whatever is happening between Serena, his boss, and his mother. That’s what really makes her like him. He stays right out of it. He doesn’t carry messages between them, doesn’t implore Serena to talk to her, doesn’t say anything when he catches Serena watching her across the ward. 

Morven and Cameron are going to Albie’s and they invite her along. It’s pissing rain, cold as a witch's tit and she could do with a glass of wine. Maybe two. A bottle if the rain doesn’t let up. She could always sleep in the hospital. Certainly wouldn’t be the first time. She has some spare clothes in the boot of her car. 

Morven says, “What about your mum, Cam?"

He glances at Serena and says, “We can go on without her.” Smiles at Serena. 

She does really like the boy. 

They get drenched on the walk over. It’s more of a trot, though she thinks it’s the trying to hurry that makes the umbrellas so ineffective. She and Morven under it, anyhow, and Cam mostly relying on his hood. Inside the bar, they laugh and shake off. Serena adds her umbrella precariously to the holder already overflowing by the door. 

“First round on me,” Cam says. “Let me guess? Shiraz?”

“Extra large, if you please,” Serena says sweetly. She and Morven find seats easily enough. Serena claims an armchair, one of a few that face a loveseat, making up a pod of comfortable seating. The place isn’t very full and she thinks, perhaps, the rain is keeping everyone away but as they sit there, more and more familiar faces trickle in and join them until they are the heart of the bar and their buzzed laughter sets the tone for those around them. 

Serena is on her third glass of wine when Bernie comes in and joins them without hesitation, perching on the arm of her son’s chair, two seats away from Serena. 

The focus is on neither of them, but on Morven who is currently taking an online quiz via her mobile. 

Still, Serena doesn’t look at Bernie, even though several people greet her. She can tell Bernie is looking at her, but Serena will not meet her eye. She instead invests a great deal of energy and concentration into not seeing Bernie at all. 

“Okay,” Morven says. “Calculating… and...ha! Hermione Granger!”

“Of course that’s who you got, you know-it-all,” Cam says, laughing. 

“What is it, a Harry Potter quiz?” Bernie asks. 

“No, just which character in literature would you be,” Cam explains. “Morven got Hermione, I got Atticus Finch.”

“Nice,” Bernie says proudly.

“I got Charles Bingley,” Sacha said. “Not exactly Mr. Darcy…”

“Better, some might say,” Bernie says kindly which is almost exactly what Serena had told him, when he’d gotten his answer. She scowls into her nearly empty glass. 

“And what of you, Serena?” Bernie says. Serena looks up, meets her eye for the first time in a long time. 

“It’s a stupid game,” Serena says.

“I bet you could guess, mum,” Cam says. “I thought it was a good fit.”

“Oh, let’s see,” Bernie says with a serious, thoughtful expression. “Jane Eyre?”

“No!” Morven cries out. “Don’t listen to that, Serena, you’re the least plain of us here.” 

“She had other virtues!” Bernie says defensively. “She was very compelling. No damsel in distress, that one.”

“I’ll give you a hint,” Cam says.

“Don’t,” Serena pleads with him softly. 

But Cam stands up, clears his throat and says, “In spite of your heart, I think! Alas, poor heart! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for-”

“Ah,” Bernie says. “That _is_ a good fit.” She smiles at Serena. Shy and hopeful and it makes Serena’s stomach start to ache.

“But where, pray tell, is your Benedick, lady Beatrice?” Sacha asks with a laugh.

The joke falls flat, though, as most of the crowd seems uncomfortable, eyes darting between Serena and her would be partner in love, Bernie. It takes a moment for Sacha to realize what he’d done.

Serena drains her glass. 

“Anyway,” Cam says. “It’s your turn, mum. Morven, give me your mobile.” 

“No,” Bernie says, waving it all away. “No need for that. At least not sober. Let me get a drink first.”

“Any guesses on the illustrious Dr. Wolfe’s literary doppelganger?” Cam asks, pecking at Morven’s phone. 

She knows she shouldn’t, knows she should just let it lie, but she hears her own voice, steady and clear, and cannot stop it. 

“Oh Ms. Wolfe would surely be the Tin Man,” Serena says. “If she only had a heart."

The group goes silent and slack jawed with surprise. Serena can see the tears in Bernie’s eyes, welling up almost before she finishes speaking.

 _Good,_ she thinks. Gets up and walks away. 

She’d meant to simply go refill her drink but after that, she can’t stay. So she puts her coat on and takes her umbrella from by the door and makes her way back to her car.

She can’t drive it yet, but she can sit in there, stay dry and sober up. 

She’s sitting only for about ten minutes, basking in the glow of her dashboard when someone opens the passenger door and slides into the car.

“Cam, go away,” she says. “I don’t need a lecture.”

“I’m not here to lecture,” he says. “I don’t go around lecturing my bosses.”

“Even when they’re drunk and mouthy and cruel?” Serena asks. She feels a lump in her throat, she swallows it down. 

“She got Katniss Everdeen,” Cam says. “Mum. On the quiz.”

Serena shakes her head.

“The hunger games? The girl with the bow and arrow?” he says.

“Yes, I think Elinor read that series,” Serena says. “The girl spent most of it waffling between two boys.”

“No, that was the movies,” Cam says. “In the books she’s not interested in having a love life. Or children. She spends most of the series traumatized and wanting to be left alone. But she’s strong and while she’s not good at everything, she’s good at the things she’s good at. Surviving. Helping others.”

“Oh.”

“Not a bad match for a buzzfeed quiz,” Cam says. “Also I don’t think the Tin Man was actually an option.” 

“No?” Serena asks, using the back of her hand to wipe at her eyes. When did they start leaking?

“But that was a sick burn, Ms. C,” he says. This makes her laugh, and he smiles. 

“Well,” she says. “You don’t have to stay out here with me.”

He looks at the windshield, still being pelted with steady rain. 

“Would it be easier if I pretended not to know anything about your relationship with her?” he asks. 

“The entire world knows,” she says bitterly. “You weren’t here when she left. I was… I could’ve been… more discreet.” 

“I still get a little bit surprised when I see her,” Cam says. “I mean, it’s been weeks and still because I got so used to her being away.”

Serena nods at him, encouraging him to continue. 

“I’ve thought about it for a long time and talked it over with Charlotte and I think… we think that mum thinks she only does good things when she’s away. Fights for her country, saves lives. All the things she did when she had to leave. And anytime she came home... “ He shrugs. “We were always mad at her. She and dad fought. But then she would leave again and we’d send her letters and care packages and dad would tell her to hurry home… for years and years, that happened.” 

“She didn’t like leaving you, you know,” Serena says. “She agonizes over the relationship she has with you two.” 

“Berenice Wolfe agonizes over everything,” Cameron says. 

Serena starts to weep again because she’s tipsy and that always makes her feel overly emotional. 

“I drove her off,” Serena says through her tears.

“She left because she thought that would make it better,” Cam says. “She honestly thought that.”

“She’s an idiot,” Serena says.

Cam reaches into the pocket of his impossibly skinny jeans and pulls out a white handkerchief. Serena takes it and dabs at her nose. 

“Yes,” he agrees while she mops herself up. “She is an idiot.” 

“You think I should forgive her?” Serena asked. “Even though she left and then ignored me for weeks and weeks and just let me rot here?”

“I mean,” he says with a shrug. “We always do, right? Forgive her? Let her back in? May as well not drag out the inevitable.”

“Do you think she’s sorry?” Serena asks. 

“I know she is,” he says. “She wouldn’t have left in the first place if she didn’t care about you.” 

“Insanely backwards logic, but I’ll trust your judgement on this one,” she says. And then reaches out to touch his arm. “Go back inside, Mr. Dunn. And thank you for the pep talk.”

She watches him head back toward the entrance of the bar and then carefully and oh so slowly, drives home in the rain.

oooo

She thaws toward Bernie overnight. 

Goes to sleep still half-hurt, half-mad about Kiev and online quizzes and people who act like they want you and then leave instead. 

But when she wakes up, all she wants is Bernie. Sod the rest of it. They shouldn’t both be fools about it, for heaven’s sake. Maybe she should’ve simply gone after Bernie. A radical notion, sure, but maybe in all Bernie’s years of legging it away from her problems, no one had ever followed her. 

Serena wears all black, goes a little heavy on the eye shadow. She feels not herself, but she feels more herself than she has in months. She wants to looks strong and maybe a little scary. Instead of her sturdy, comfortable black non-slip shoes, she puts on a pair of leopard print ballet flats. 

She goes in early, buys coffee for them both. Starts on her rounds early so she can be out of the office when Bernie arrives. She sees her come in, sees her stop at the desk and see the coffee. Look around suspiciously. From behind a partially closed curtain, she watches Bernie pull her son aside and hold up the coffee.

He shakes his head, gestures toward the empty office. 

Bernie shakes her head no.

He nods.

She puts a hand up to her mouth and then same hand over her chest. Serena can read her lips.

“Really?” Bernie says. “Serena?”

Serena looks down and then up again once she’s stopped feeling so much like gum on the bottom of someone’s shoe.

Bernie is hugging Cam. 

Serena throws the curtain back. Now or never. 

Walks right up to them and says, “Double shot flat white, right? I know it’s been awhile, but I at least got your drink order right, didn’t I?”

Bernie just nods, her cheeks red and eyes glassy. 

“Good,” Serena says. “Bernie, you aren’t the Tin Man. I’m sorry I said that.” 

She just shakes her head.

“I’m sorry I’ve been… I’m sorry,” Serena says.

“Serena,” she whispers. 

“Can you forgive me?” Serena asks. 

Bernie gapes at her. “Me? You?”

Serena steps a little closer. 

Bernie looks down at her, the coffee cup in her hand trembling slightly. 

Cam has shuffled off to stand next to Morven at the desk. He calls out, “Kiss her!”

Serena can hear Morven slap his arm, doesn’t know if he’s talking to her or his mother, but she heeds the advice anyway. Presses up on the balls of her feet and presses her lips to Bernie’s. A chaste, sweet kiss in full view of everyone on the ward. 

She hears Fletch whoop from bay number four. A few people laugh. 

Raf comes up to the desk and says, “Damn it, I owe Sacha Levy twenty quid.” 

Bernie pulls back a little and says, “Office?”

“Office,” Serena says with a laugh. Lets Bernie drag her toward their office. Resists the urge to bow to everyone who is watching them. 

Snogs Bernie senseless before she realizes that neither of them had bothered to close the blinds.


	5. and everybody's watching her but she's looking at you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bitchenware asked for: _Serena childishly playing “i can’t see you” “lol who said that” when Bernie comes back just to annoy her and keeps doing it genuinely in theatre but still is just laughing and won't stop until they’re alone in the office + resolve_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay cool story, the real prompt is in the summary above, but WHAT I WROTE on my prompt list was just "serena childishly playing I can't see you" which in my lizard brain translated to "hate sex" and so that's what I wrote and it was not, in fact, what the prompt was about like... at all. so... sorry??? this is not what you asked for???
> 
> also I stand behind the title choice as a taylor swift song. fight me. drive over here and say it to my face!!

At work, she pretends like Bernie’s not back. She knows it’s immature, childish in the extreme when Bernie offers her opinion on a patient’s care and Serena says, “Did you hear something, Raf? Just the wind, then?”

Bernie had rolled her eyes but looked hurt.

Was hurt when Serena refused to look at her in their office.

Was hurt when Serena walked by the cup of tea Bernie had extended like it wasn’t there.

Was hurt when Serena barred her from her operating theatre.

She must hit her limit, because today Serena ignores her morning greeting, turns her back on her in front of a patient, and halfway through the shift, as she’s walking by a supply cupboard, someone reaches out and drags her into it. 

“Hey!” she says, and then realizes it’s Bernie, who closes the door and stands in front of it so Serena can’t escape. 

“Serena,” Bernie says. “Please… just let me…”

Serena waits, but Bernie is struggling to find the right words, just looking at Serena in the dim light with a wounded expression. 

“Stand aside, please,” Serena says.

“No,” Bernie manages. “You can’t just pretend like I’m not here!”

“I can,” Serena says. “It’s ridiculously easy!” She rolls her eyes in false mirth as she says it. 

“But…”

“Move, Bernie.”

“Serena-”

“Move!”

“No!” Bernie says and reaches out, pulls Serena to her by her biceps, and kisses her. 

Serena has stumbled upon many couples kissing in supply cupboards in her years. This is the first time she has ever been the one getting kissed. 

_Oh right_ , she thinks. _I forgot how good she was at this._ Good enough, in fact, that she doesn’t even consider not kissing her back. That she makes a tiny noise when Bernie’s hands slide down her arms and snake around her waist, yanking her flush against her. That when Bernie’s tongue sweeps along the seam of her mouth, she opens up right away. 

Someone walks by the closed door, makes enough noise that they break apart. 

Bernie stares down at her, flushed and breathing hard.

Serena reaches out blindly, grabs a handful of highlighters, and leaves.

oooo

She acts like Bernie’s invisible even though she thinks about kissing her. 

“You’re being childish,” Fletch tells her. “And that’s coming from me.”

“What about loyalty, hmm? You’ve known me for longer!” she says. “You should be on my side.”

“You can be mad, Serena but you can’t ignore her forever,” he says.

She sniffs haughtily. “Challenge accepted.” 

Later that day, Bernie corners her in the bathroom, shuffles her bodily into a stall and locks the door. 

Serena meets her kiss halfway. 

Ten minutes later, Bernie’s pager goes off. 

She pulls her hand out from underneath Serena’s blouse. Serena wipes her mouth with her hand and waits another few minutes before she leaves. So as not to arouse suspicion. 

oooo

Serena vacates where she’s sitting when Bernie arrives to Albie's. Bernie’s hair is a little flat from her surgical cap and she looks tired. 

Serena moves to the bar - Bernie takes her empty seat, looking over her shoulder at Serena. Serena can see her reflection in the mirrored bar. She pretends she doesn’t. 

She pays her tab when she finishes her wine and then uses the loo. Washes her hands and then goes out the backdoor to stand in the narrow alley behind Albie’s. There’s a dumpster a ways down, the bartender’s car in the other direction. She’ll wait only a few minutes and then she’ll go home. 

If anyone asks, she’s just getting some fresh air. Some nearby dumpster and petrol filled fresh air. 

But it doesn’t even take a few minutes. The backdoor opens and a blonde head sticks out. She edges out through the barely open door, so slim, and carefully closes it so it doesn’t make any noise. She looks at Serena. The skin beneath her eyes is purple and tender. 

Serena kisses her first.

oooo

Patient care demands that they both be in the trauma bay, and so Serena doesn’t make a fuss. She still speaks to Bernie in clipped tones. But she cedes to Bernie’s opinion on the care they’re providing. Watches her hands, her technique, her concentration as she saves this man’s life. And when he’s stable enough to move into theatre, they both go in there and finish up. 

She goes home after her shift and makes sure Jason is fed and happy. Then she says, “I have to go back to the hospital for awhile. Are you going to be okay here alone if I don’t come back right away?”

He thinks about it and says, “Yes.”

“You can call my mobile if it’s an emergency,” Serena says.

“I know that,” he says. 

“Okay,” she says, leaning over his chair to drop a kiss on his head. “See you later.”

She does not go back to the hospital.

She instead drives to Bernie’s building, parks on the street half a block away and walks up to the grey block that she calls home. Serena’s only been here once before, but not all the way inside. Only had dropped Bernie off once. But the building isn’t very secure so she doesn’t have to buzz to get inside. 

She knows which flat is Bernie’s.

Hesitate only for a moment before she thinks about Bernie’s knee slipping between her legs behind Albie’s and knocks hard.

She does look surprised to see Serena. Opens her mouth to say something but nothing comes out. 

“I didn’t come to talk,” Serena says. 

Bernie closes her mouth and stands aside to let Serena in. 

She’s in gray sweats and a white t-shirt. She’s barefoot and looks nervously around the flat. It’s trashed. There’s takeout containers everywhere. Clothes over the backs of chairs, shoes strewn about. Serena can see from where she stands that there’s still an inch of coffee in the little pot from this morning. Hopefully this morning, anyway. Who could say?

Bernie shuffles a little and says, “Couch?”

Serena grips her at coat with both hands. “I was thinking bed.” 

Bernie’s face changes a little. Shifts from surprise to desire deftly. But she still hesitates, thinking it over for a few seconds before finally shrugging and saying, “This way.” 

Bernie flips on the light when they walk in but Serena reaches out and turns it off again. Bernie turns and looks at her with a furrowed brow.

“Not necessary,” Serena says. She drops her purse onto the floor and sheds her coat. Drops that too. Even sheds her outer blouse and kicks off her shoes before crawling onto the bed. Bernie follows.

The bed smells like her, it’s everywhere. 

Bernie strokes her hand down Serena’s bare arm and says, “For the record, I don’t think this is a good idea.” 

Serena slips her hands into the gap where Bernie’s t-shirt falls away from her torso and presses her cool hands to Bernie’s skin.

“Noted,” she says. She tilts her head up and kisses Bernie’s neck, her jaw, her chin while she runs her hands across her stomach and her back. Bernie groans and kisses her on the mouth. 

Bernie tries to be soft and slow and gentle, but Serena’s not interested in that. It’s Serena who shoves her hands down Bernie’s pants, dragging her fingers along the damp peninsula of fabric between her legs. Serena who shoves that fabric aside and touches Bernie until she’s gasping and moaning into the pillow next to Serena’s head. 

Serena doesn’t let her come. She pulls her hand away, lifts her fingers to her mouth and darts her tongue out to swipe along one pruned pad. 

“God,” Bernie says. 

“Stop messing around,” Serena says. “I just want you to fuck me.” 

Whatever it is that has been reinforcing Bernie’s restraint gives way. She’s not gentle or sweet or kind.

She’s rough and it burns so good. 

oooo

Even sleeping together doesn’t really change things. Serena still does her best to avoid Bernie on the clock. She’s just not sure what she wants - is not sure what purpose forgiveness might serve. She wants to believe Bernie won’t hurt her again, won’t change her mind, but she doesn't trust her enough to be sure. 

She can be sure of one thing, though. She wants to sleep with her again. 

She arranges for Jason to go out with a group. He likes outings, but not surprise ones so it takes some convincing and some bribery. Once that’s settled, she sticks her head into the office where Bernie is at her desk, typing at the computer.

“My house, seven o’clock,” she says.

Bernie looks up. “Really?”

“Don’t be late - Jason gets back at nine.” 

“Oh,” Bernie says. “Uh, maybe we could go get something to eat first or-”

“No, that’s not what this is,” Serena says. 

Bernie sighs and says, “Well, what is it, then?”

“Are you going to come over or not?” she asks evenly.

“I mean… yes, of course,” Bernie says. Looks at Serena with those dark, helpless eyes.

“Good,” Serena says and closes the door behind her. 

She leaves first - she can see Bernie’s sporty little car still in the car park. She drives home, makes sure Jason gets fed and then drives him to his meet up point. He knows plenty of the people there, waves her off with barely a goodbye.

She gets home with just enough time to take a shower and redo her make up. She puts on jeans and a soft flannel shirt, something with buttons. 

She’s been imagining Bernie undoing her buttons and… well, she makes sure to wear buttons. 

Her hair is still a little damp when the doorbell rings. So much for blow drying. 

She opens the door to Bernie holding a bottle of red wine.

“I come in peace,” she says.

“Well,” Serena says, a bolt of arousal shooting through her at the very sight of Bernie. “As long as you're coming.”

“My, my,” she says. “Confident are we?”

“Did all right last time,” Serena says. Hadn't she?

“More than,” Bernie says. She extends the wine and Serena takes it and stands aside to let her in. She shrugs out of her coat and hangs it on the rows of hooks by the door. Serena sets the wine down on the bench.

“Upstairs,” Serena says. 

Bernie makes a noise between a laugh and a scoff. “You don’t even want wine? It’s your favorite.”

“I know exactly what I want,” Serena says, pointing up the staircase. “Second door on the left.”

Bernie looks like she’s going to argue for a moment but then just shakes her head and climbs the stairs two at a time. Serena’s been thinking about this moment all day. All the things she wants to do. Last time she’d come home with red scratches down her back, raised welts that burned in the shower. She’d come home sore and bruised and sated. 

Today she wants to catch the tender skin of Bernie’s neck between her teeth, to suck until she leaves a mark. She wants to see how many fingers she can get inside of her. Three? All four? She wants turn her over and sink her teeth into that perfect arse. She wants-

As soon as the door closes behind Serena, Bernie takes her by her hips and shoves her against the door. Drops to her knees and works at the button of Serena’s jeans in rapt concentration, getting it through the loop and the zipper down. Then she hooks her thumbs into the waist of her jeans and her knickers and yanks them down. 

“What…” Serena says, thrown off balance by Bernie’s aggression. “What are you-”

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” Bernie says, pushing her thighs apart as far as they will go with her jeans still around her knees. It’s enough for Bernie to lean her face in and swipe her tongue through Serena’s folds. 

Serena leans her head back against the door and groans. 

“For me to screw you and then leave?” Bernie says before kissing Serena’s clit and then circling it with her tongue. 

Serena doesn’t reply, just puts her hand on the back of Bernie’s head. Strokes her hair, twisting the strands through her fingers. 

Serena comes three times before Bernie leaves at 8:45. By the time Bernie goes, Serena is naked and panting and exhausted. 

Bernie, however, wouldn’t let Serena touch her. She leaves unsatisfied and fully dressed. 

Serena lies in her bed, naked and confused. Guilty and nervous and anxious.

She thought this would be better. If they could just get it out of their system. She’d thought this was a good plan. 

She’d not accounted for that deeply hurt look on Bernie’s face as she’d left.

oooo

She shows up at Bernie’s flat in the morning. It’s Bernie’s day off - Serena doesn’t have to go in until the afternoon.

Bernie answers the door and says, “I’m really not in the mood today.” 

Serena holds up a white paper bag. “I come in peace.”

Bernie looks at her, unamused. “What is it?”

“Pastry,” she says. “I bought a variety. You can have first pick.”

“Or I could take them and close the door in your face,” Bernie says. 

“Yes, that might be what I deserve,” Serena agrees. Bernie sighs, stands aside to let her in.

“Do you want some coffee?” Bernie asks. Serena’s eyes dart over to the little maker and sees it’s mostly full and the power indicator light is glowing red. She thinks of the stale coffee from the other night and internally cringes.

“Sure,” she says anyway.

Bernie already knows how she likes her coffee. She is, after all, her best friend. Or was until Serena mucked it all up.

Bernie hands her the coffee and takes the white bag. Pulls a plate from the cupboard and haphazardly dumps the contents of the bag onto it. Takes a plain croissant for herself. 

Serena isn’t sure she could eat. Not even the chocolate one. 

They sit on Bernie’s couch.

“Okay,” Serena says, wrapping her fingers around her warm mug. “I think, possibly, somewhere along the line, I may have made a mistake.”

“I think it’s fair to say that we both did,” Bernie says. 

“I was just so mad at you… I just… you left and you didn’t write…”

“I know.”

“I thought we could just, oh I don’t know, I thought that being mad at you would make me not want you and it didn’t and then I thought well, we could just…” Serena stops. 

“Have emotionless sex?” Bernie asks.

Serena shrugs one shoulder. 

“Didn’t work out, did it?” Bernie asks.

“I didn’t mean to use you,” Serena says. 

Bernie reaches out and lays her hand on Serena’s knee. 

“Can we start over?” she asks. 

Serena slips her hand into Bernie’s and lifts it into a shake.

“Serena Campbell,” she whispers.

“Berenice Wolfe,” Bernie says with a crooked smile. “But my friends call me Bernie.”

oooo

Serena spends most of the morning at Bernie’s flat and then goes to work. But she picks Bernie up on the way home. Bernie tucks her long legs shyly into Serena’s car, blushes at Serena’s grin. 

“Nice to see you,” Serena says.

Bernie nods. “Nice to be seen.”

Serena drives home with her hand on Bernie’s thigh.


	6. i was a dreamer before you went and let me down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> slightlyintimidating asked for: _Five Times Serena Didn’t Know What To Do (And The One Time She Did)_

_i._

She found her sutures to be a little sloppy. She'd seen Matthew Reid’s perfect row of stitches in her last lab session and had been appalled to find that his were better than hers. Hers had a little wobble. She couldn't stand it. Matthew Reid was a smarmy bastard who got into med school on his father’s title and his mother’s money. Matthew Reid had never once had an interaction with Serena that didn't include him staring at her breasts. She couldn't let him be better than her at anything. 

So it was Sunday and she'd sweet talked her way into the cadaver lab. Had made an incision and was now merrily stitching it up, humming to herself. 

She’d watched The Sound of Music on television while she’d studied last night and it was all still rattling around in her brain. 

“Nothing comes from nothing, nothing ever could so…”

She snipped off the thread and looked critically at her work. No. She could do with tighter stitches. Again. She picked up the scalpel and made a new cut. 

“Somewhere in my youth or childhood…”

Started a new row, bringing the cleanly sliced flesh back together. 

“I must’ve done something good...”

Now there was a thought - a ragged cut would be much harder to stitch than a clean incision. That was what she ought to be practicing. 

Her thoughts were cut off by clapping. She looked over her shoulder. Dr. Rogers. Damn, she was caught. 

“What a little songbird you are, Ms. McKinnie,” he said. 

“Look, I’m sorry about coming in out of hours, I just thought I might get in a bit of extra practice.”

“Your lovely voice pulled me out of my office,” he said. He didn't seem mad, anyway. She relaxed slightly but her palms were still sweaty in her gloves. “With a face like that? You’re wasting your time in here! You could be on the stage.” He tilted his head at her and looked her up and down. “Or the screen, perhaps.”

“I was just nearly finished,” she said, setting her instruments down. 

“No,” he said, coming up to the body. “You need at least ten more to close that wound. Complete your work.”

She felt her cheeks start to burn. She wanted to leave but he was walking around the table to her side. She glanced at the ashen face of the cadaver. No help there. She tucked her hair behind her ear nervously and picked up the needle driver. 

He was directly behind her now and she tensed as his arms came around her. His big meaty hand on her hand. 

“Like this,” he said softly, guiding her movements. It was rubbish, though, because her hands were trembling too much to have anything be improved. He shuffled closer so his chest was against her back. She could smell his aftershave, his stale breath. Tears stung at her eyes. 

And then, insistent and hard against her back. He pressed it into her. 

She dropped everything, pushed him back with her elbow. Made enough space so that she could make a path to the door.

Snatched her bag with her gloves still on and made it out into the hall before she started to cry, ignoring his calls of “Ms. McKinnie!"

Should she tell someone? Should she go to the head of the department? Dr. Rogers had been teaching at this school for twenty years. Half the professors openly spoke in lectures about how teaching women to be doctors was such a waste of time when there was nursing shortage. 

She ripped the gloves off and tossed them into a nearby bin. Wiped her face with her hands and started the walk home. 

Told no one. 

Not ever.

 

_ii._

The baby wouldn’t stop crying. 

She’d been on her feet for nearly fourteen hours, had come home late and slipped the nanny twenty pounds for staying over her shift. She worked days, long days, and Edward worked mostly nights now for the extra money. He slept during the day while the nanny stayed with the baby. So she never saw her baby, the baby never saw her father, and she never saw her husband. 

The only one who saw everyone was the bloody nanny.

“Ellie,” Serena said helplessly, exhausted. She leaned over, plucked her out of the high chair. Five months old last week. Some women stayed home a whole year with their baby. Some women never went back to work. Serena had taken a whole month and spent a lot of it worrying about falling behind. Had read medical journals with the baby at her breast. Had begged Edward to keep an eye on the other F1’s so she wouldn’t be totally in the dark when she got back on the ward. 

He didn’t, of course. He was a registrar. He had his own work. They were in completely different parts of the hospital. 

He’d never say it, but she thought that if she told him she wanted to give it all up to stay home with Elinor, he’d be pleased. 

It had just all happened so fast. She’d been back in Britain less than a year when she met Edward. He was older, he wanted to settle down. She felt adrift in her own country. She found she missed the oddest things. Pizza and pick-up trucks and cold beer. The most horribly American things. Hot summer beach cookouts. Being young and single and so very far from home. The ruddy Red Sox. 

An American education was one thing, but she’d have more success and opportunity for promotion within the NHS. 

They’d only been married two months when she’d gotten pregnant. 

Ellie’s little hand in her hair, crying right into her ear. She’d have to cut her hair, something short and practical. 

“All right,” Serena said. “Okay, okay.” Bounced, swayed her hips.

But her words did nothing to sooth the baby. She sat on the sofa, unbuttoned her blouse. Unclipped the cup of her bra and brought the baby to her breast. 

It was always a struggle - she was used to bottles, now, and the breast was so much more work. Serena had to coax her into latching. Finally, she did.

Just one more failure as a mother. What kind of baby didn’t want to breastfeed?

She dozed off while the baby nursed and woke up with a jolt to more crying.

The only way she got to sleep that night was with the baby in the bed with her. Edward came home about an hour before she had to get up. He shook her awake.

“What?” she asked, bleary and confused. 

“You should put her in her crib, love,” he said. “I have to get some sleep.”

“I was unaware that you’d broken both your arms today,” Serena muttered. 

“I’ll just upset her,” Edward said, already stripping off his clothes and letting them fall to the floor. Directly next to but never actually in the hamper. 

“Eddie,” she said.

“Serena, please,” he said. “I’m tired. Just do this.”

She picked up the baby, still swaddled in a blanket and instead of depositing her in the crib, went out to sleep on the couch. Propped a pillow under her head and put the baby directly onto her chest. Serena could feel her little mouth moving against the skin of her chest while she dreamed. 

Edward didn’t ask why she never came back. 

She’d worked through the whole pregnancy, right up until labor started. Had actually been at work when they’d admitted her. She’d traded scrubs for a hospital gown. Everyone had joked about how convenient it all was. 

“Can someone page Dr. Campbell?” she’d asked - three separate times. The first two times he’d still been in surgery. By the time she’d asked a third time, she was well into her labor, sweating and cursing, and holding the nurse’s hand through her contraction. 

“Do you want me to call your mum, love?” she’d asked.

“No,” Serena had said. “Literally anyone else before her.” 

“I’ll try your husband again,” she’d said. “Surely he’s out of theatre by now.” 

Edward came about twenty minutes before Elinor was born. Had missed the laboring part of the labor. Had told her she looked tired first thing.

Had held his new daughter, inspecting all her parts and said, “A girl.” Had looked over at his exhausted new wife and said, “What was the girl name we picked out again?”

“Elinor,” she’d said. 

The nanny woke her up when she let herself in the front door. Took the baby from her arms and shook her awake.

“Good morning, Mrs. Campbell,” she said. 

When Serena went back into the bedroom, Edward was sprawled out across the whole mattress. 

She stood in the shower, looked down at her bloated stomach, her heavy, sagging breasts. She was so tired. 

Was this it? This all marriage was? Being tired and arguing and having no one to pick up any slack? Was this happiness? This colicky baby and helpless man? 

Was this love? All the songs and novels and poems and plays, all for this?

 

_iii._

She realized there was a real possibility that she was going to start to cry. She was not against tears in general, often counseled her patients in the healthy expression of emotion, but today she just didn’t want to cry in front of her staff. Didn’t want the grief sitting heavy on everyone’s shoulders to be made more burdensome by her own.

It was cold out, but she had her coat and her scarf. The peace garden was a bit of a joke to everyone now. A gazebo, a few plants, a view of the car park. But sometimes it was nice, even on a cold gray day, even with Arthur dead for hours and hours now. Days. Soon they would count it in weeks, then months. A year would pass. He’ll have been dead for longer than he worked at Holby. There would come a time when he will have been dead for longer than he was ever alive. 

She felt her eyes start to sting; the pressure in her chest was getting hard to ignore. 

Should she give in? Weep it out and see if it helped?

Bernie Wolfe, her cigarette and long coat and messy fringe. Bernie made her want to cry, too. Bernie made her want to do a lot of things that she couldn’t quite explain. Stay out late, drink too much. Rush to get to work. She’d had a dream the other night about holding Bernie’s hand. Not in prayer, not to arm wrestle, not even while walking down the street. In the dream, they’d been in a board meeting, sitting next to one another and Serena had reached out and slipped her hand into Bernie’s. They’d spent the whole meeting like that. She’d woken up with her hand curled around nothing.

She’d liked Bernie so much, so fast. Wanted to tell people about it. Wanted everyone to know that Bernie was her friend and she was Bernie’s. 

And now, here Bernie was, talking to her about something. Serena couldn’t look at her, didn’t try. It wasn’t if she’d cry now, but a matter of when. 

The smell of Bernie’s lit cigarette was what did her in. Her shoulders started to heave as she tried to hold it in but it was no good.

“Serena?”

She was not a pretty crier. Some women made it look demure. Delicate. Glistening tears, heaving bosoms. Serena got red faced and snotty and her face crumpled all up until she was nothing but wrinkles. 

But then Bernie did something that Bernie did not ever do. She came up to Serena and touched her. Wrapped her arm around Serena’s shoulders and pulled her in. 

Serena felt their heads touch and thought maybe, she felt… just the corner of Bernie’s mouth brush against her forehead. Or maybe the sweep of her eyelashes. 

Serena wanted to bury her face into Bernie. Her lovely coat, her shoulder, her neck. Would Bernie allow that? Did she dare try?

She always felt like she wanted more when it came to Bernie. From her? Of her? She just wanted more Bernie, but she didn’t know, exactly, what she even meant by that. More time with her? But then when they were together, either at work or socially, it still never felt like quite enough. 

There was Bernie’s hand on her back, rubbing a slow circle.

Even when Bernie hurt her, she still went crawling back for more. Bernie was a hero, saving lives with metal screws and an iron will, cleaning up her overwhelmed ward, belittling her for sending patients away. What did Serena have to offer?

She honestly didn’t know. 

“Come on, I think we need a drink,” Bernie said.

Serena nodded. 

 

_iv._

Here was the thing about love: it was one of the few things that Serena Campbell was not good at. 

There were things she loved. Wine and good food, expensive sheets, a Merchant Ivory period film. She loved Elinor and Jason. She loved Christmas and anytime the weather changed with a snap. 

But _love_. 

Her track record was, largely, Edward. A thorough failure. 

A few odd dalliances and Robbie. Robbie was as close to serious as she’d ever gotten again because she’d started to worry that she was getting old. Out to pasture. Gone to seed. Not an easy choice for a woman like Serena, a charismatic, natural flirt with a pretty face. She wasn’t the sort to get by on her looks, but they certainly hadn’t hurt anything. And now she was fifty years and change into this life and the only man she came home to was Jason.

She loved Jason, obviously, wouldn’t trade him for the world, but did it have to be only Jason? Couldn’t there be the kind of love that gave her a thrill now and then? The kind of love that dripped with anticipation, the kind of love that went to bed with her on a Saturday night and was still there for breakfast on a lazy Sunday morning? 

Bernie noticed Serena being off, offered to take her out for a drink and when Serena declined, somehow made the invitation into a dinner, somewhere away from the hospital, just the two of them.

“What about Jason?” Serena had asked.

“You leave Jason to me,” Bernie had said. Had sat down in Serena’s chair and opened facetime on her computer and had called him up. Had laid out a very logical argument as to why his aunt couldn’t come home for dinner, had informed him that he was plenty capable of going to the shop to procure dinner for himself no matter the day, had convinced him that to do so would be a great act of love for Serena.

“I do love Auntie Serena,” Jason had said. Serena, from the other side of the computer, had nearly wept but had resisted to stay quiet. 

“She loves you too, Jason. As do I. Thank you,” Bernie had said.

Bernie drove her out of Holby, headed toward the sea. Serena was quiet on the drive and Bernie did not attempt to pick up the conversational slack. It wasn’t the way their friendship usually worked but that didn’t mean they weren’t capable of it. Often it was Serena who was the caregiver and Bernie who so obviously needed to be cared for, but tonight Serena was all too happy to swap roles if it helped ease the gaping feeling in her chest, like two halves of something yearning to meet and always coming up short. 

The restaurant was small, but busy. Bernie spoke briefly to the maître d' and they were not made to wait. They were seated at a small wooden table near a window. When Serena looked out, all she saw was the dark, choppy blackness of the water and a few lights along the shore. 

Between them a small candle. Bernie smiled at her when their eyes met.

“Is this okay, then?” she asked. “Bit far, I know.” 

“It’s lovely,” Serena said. “I’m sorry, I know I’m rotten company. I hope you’re not wasting this whole evening on me.” 

“You’re not a waste,” Bernie had said. “Anyway, the food here is all right. But the wine list is extensive.”

Serena perked up a little.

Bernie knocked her knuckles lightly on the table. “There you are. I knew you were in there somewhere.” 

Serena rolled her eyes at herself.

Someone set a basket of bread between them. Bernie picked up the wine list and handed it to Serena.

“I defer to you, Ms. Campbell.”

Serena ordered and it was good wine when it came. Expensive, but good. They ordered food too, and that came and it was, as Bernie said it would be, all right. Not bad, not the highlight of the day. And only after all those things were handled did Bernie clear her throat and say all too evenly, “Would you like to talk about it?”

“My lamb?” Serena said, looking down at her mostly unremarkable plate. 

“Not your lamb,” Bernie said. “Whatever it is that has you all up in knots.” 

Serena set down her fork and knife. “I’m being a bad dining companion, aren’t I?”

“No.”

“It’s really nothing,” Serena said. “Just one of those days.”

“What kind of day have you had, Serena?” Bernie asked. It seemed almost silly for her to ask since they’d been together for the majority of it. Most of the shift within eyesight of one another, two and a half hours in the same theatre, the long drive out to where they were now. 

“I just…” Serena shook her head. “It’s silly.”

“I’d like to know,” Bernie said. 

“Lately I’ve just felt unbalanced, that’s all,” Serena said. “The ward is running smoothly, thanks to you, and things with Jason are going overall fairly well, again in part thanks to you.”

Bernie broke eye contact to move her peas around her plate.

“It seems by all accounts that I should be very content,” Serena said. “And yet-”

“And yet,” Bernie echoes faintly. “You feel like something is missing?”

“No,” Serena said, picking up her wine glass and leaning back into her seat. She held it close to her chest. “I feel like it’s there but just out of reach.”

Bernie blinked at her. “What’s there?”

Serena smiled at her sadly. “That’s the rub. I don’t know.”

Bernie exhaled, laughed, looked altogether uncomfortable and relieved at the same time. 

“I think everyone feels like that from time to time,” Bernie said. “To want something out of reach. To never get quite enough of what you need.” 

She picked up her wine, took a sip. Bernie looked remarkably calm about that notion. About life being nothing but a series of unfulfilled desires. 

If Serena was on one side of the huge hole in her heart, then surely Bernie was on the other. 

But what to do? How to get across?

 

_v._

She considered taking a sabbatical. Going off on a secondment of her own, maybe. Using up all her holiday allotment in one selfish, luxurious block. 

She wouldn’t, of course. It would leave AAU down two consultants and Fletch was only just back on his feet. Still, it helped to fantasize. Packing a bag, tossing it in the boot of her car. Driving it somewhere. A plane or a train or a boat or a bloody hot air balloon, as long as it meant no one staring at her with pity in their eyes. 

_Prague_ , her traitorous mind whispered. 

A stupid thought. Halfway points meant nothing if there was no one coming from the other side. 

Still, when she found herself with a few moments to spare in the office, she filled them with looking up flights. First Paris because she always loved Paris in the fall. Then Prague, because it was a beautiful city whether or not Bernie was going to be there and maybe Jason would like to go. And then, all pretenses dropped, Kiev. If she left on a Friday. If she left on a Thursday and came back Sunday. If she pushed it out to Monday. If she went for a whole week. 

If she showed up in a foreign, inhospitable city with no plan. What if she texted Bernie then, hmm? _I’m in your city. I’m here. Still going to ignore me?_

What if Bernie did?

She could hardly bear the thought. 

Romantic gestures seemed all very well and good when one was planning them but tended often to fall apart during production. Such as snogging on the floor of an operating theatre - romantic, spontaneous, life-changing! And then meeting again in the lift only hours later and it all coming apart at the seams. Or giving into one’s desires in one’s office on a sunny morning full of promise and hope only to be humiliated and left behind by the day’s end. 

If she were wise, if she were the sort of woman who heeded her own advice, she’d forget Berenice Wolfe all together. If Bernie ever came back, she’d ignore her. She’d move on with her life. They wouldn’t be friends. They wouldn’t be lovers, as she had started to yearn for. They’d be colleagues, barely even acquaintances. 

Still. 

She opened the browser and it popped up a list of suggested websites, generated for her by where she frequented most. Three of them were travel websites. 

Her mouse hovered over one. 

Everything was torture lately. Shouldn’t she at least be able to choose the kind?

 

_vi._

Bernie came back. 

Had emailed ahead to say she would be returning to work on this day. Not Serena, heavens no, but had emailed Holby HR who had informed Ric who had allowed that informational nugget to trickle on down to Serena as a sort of backhanded kindness. 

Then the day had arrived and so had Bernie. 

Serena wanted to seem aloof and cruel but also did not want to seem petty.

So then, it seemed she had a choice to make. Punish Bernie as Serena had been punished for the whole of her absence or forgive her and see what was left to be salvaged. 

When she saw Bernie, it turned out it wasn’t a terribly hard choice to make. 

She resisted, of course. For a bit. Let Bernie sulk around. Let her stew in her juices. Let her track Serena with her sad, dark eyes. 

Let her apologize. Let her make promises that she’d have trouble keeping. 

Let her berate herself. 

Let her make her empty threats. 

And then, when she could stand it no more, Serena made her choice. 

Did the only thing there was to do, really. 

She brought their lips together.


	7. this is the golden age of something good and right and real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> justplainsalty asked for: _in the stairwell_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like... when does this take place? what universe is this in? what was i thinking about any of it? who knows? not me, that's for sure.
> 
> listen i just wanted to write something not sad!!!

“Where is Serena?” Bernie asks finally, exasperation creeping in. It’s not like her to go AWOL. She’s usually first in, last gone. Bernie can’t remember the last time she beat Serena to work. There was that one day they’d arrived at the same time, but that was because Serena was slightly hungover and they’d walked in together. Bernie didn’t even count that. 

Fletch glances at the monitor on the wall to check if she’s in theatre, but her name doesn’t appear. She’s not scheduled for anything yet. 

“You want me to give her a call?” Fletch asks, his hand already on the phone.

Bernie looks at the clock. It’s only fifteen minutes past the start of her shift, but it’s just so out of the ordinary. Bernie opens her mouth, closes it again, uncertain of what to do.

“If she’s not here in ten more minutes, I’ll call,” Fletch says, saving Bernie from having to make the choice. 

Bernie sticks her head in their office again, but Serena’s coat isn’t on the rack, her purse not on her desk. Her computer is still off. 

Bernie walks over, pushes the button to turn it on. One less thing for her to do, anyway, when she arrives.

There’s a commotion outside. Bernie comes out in time to see a gurney coming in through the doors with Serena on top. She’s not the patient which is the first thing Bernie is immediately relieved about. But she’s got a knee on either side of the bloke and is compressing his chest. 

“A little help?” Serena bellows. Raf and Morven rush over as Serena screams about a theatre. Morven gets the door and they disappear again. Just before the doors close, Bernie can see that Serena’s entire front is covered with, what looks to be, vomit.

There’s a long stretch of silence and then Fletch says, “Found her.” 

“Quite,” Bernie says. “I’m going to go see if they need any help.”

Serena’s already in there, already has the guy cracked open. Her blouse - royal blue and definitely caked in vomit - is on the floor with her coat and purse and Bernie can see she has the surgical gown over her street clothes and a paper cap, not her normal jungle themed one. 

Morvan and Raf are both in there but she’s still got to check.

She pushes the intercom button and says, “All right, then?”

“Yep,” Serena says. And then spares a glance over her shoulder. “You want to help?”

“I can scrub in,” Bernie says.

“No,” Serena says. “I mean - would you rinse out my shirt?”

Morven makes an odd sound that is an obvious suppression of laughter. 

“What? It’s not too late to be salvaged!” Serena says. “Hang it in the stairwell, would you?”

“Stairwell?” she asks.

“It’s notoriously the warmest, driest place in the hospital,” Raf says. “Something about the ventilation…”

“Windows that actually open,” Morven adds.

An alarm starts to blare as the patron’s stats begin to bottom out.

Bernie steps back from the viewing glass. She pinches the collar of Serena’s shirt between two fingers and drops it into the sink. Starts the water with her elbow. Watches most of the mess go down the drain. 

“So glad I could help,” she mutters.

oooo

By the time she sees Serena again, she’s already hung Serena’s coat and tucked away her purse. Serena comes into the office in pale blue scrubs - she’ll stay in them all day which is rare for her. Bernie prefers scrubs, they feel like a uniform and she likes that feeling. When she’d started at Holby, she’d followed the leads of the other consultants and stayed in her street clothes unless she had to go into theatre but now she changes straight away and chooses her own comfort over conformity. 

It also cuts down on things like people throwing up on her civvies. An added bonus.

“What happened?”

“He was just outside, stumbling around. I’m not sure, exactly,” Serena says. “I have to call the police, I think.” 

“How is he?” Bernie asks.

Serena at her desk, looking down at her phone, hesitates. 

“He’s stable now,” she says. 

“But?”

“I don’t think he’ll make it, honestly,” she says. “I’d be very… surprised.”

It’s the way of things, sometimes. 

oooo

Serena gets tangled up in her patient and the police for most of the day which makes Bernie’s shift very busy also. She’s more than happy to pick up the slack, to take on a few more cases, to oversee the junior doctors and keep an eye on the registrars. She even sits out at the desk to do her paperwork instead of in their office, as to make herself more accessible. 

The shift is nearly over when she remembers Serena’s pretty blue shirt. And off she goes to fetch it. 

Serena is already in the stairwell when she gets there. Always one step ahead of her, always deftly handling things Bernie has only just remembered. Bernie is good in a crisis, everyone knows that, but it’s Serena you’d want day to day. Bernie is a burst of energy - Serena the entire machine chugging right along. 

“Oh,” Bernie says, a little out of breath from climbing two flights of stairs at double time. “I was just-”

Serena has the shirt in her hands, but she’s standing at the cracked window, staring out at the city. The sun has done most of its setting and has left behind only a deeply blue and purple sky. 

Serena holds up the shirt. “Not sure if this is going to survive the night, either,” she says. She looks tired and sad.

“He didn’t make it.” It’s a question that Bernie already knows the answer to so she doesn’t bother to phrase it as such.

Serena shakes her head.

“I know a great cleaners,” Bernie says. She reaches out and takes the shirt. Serena allows this. “Let me see what I can do.” 

“Bernie,” Serena says. “Will you… take me out for a drink?”

“I… well, yes,” she says. 

“I just could really use… a drink,” Serena says. “If it’s not a bother.”

“No bother,” Bernie says. “A pleasure, even.” 

That earns her a small smile. 

“Oh,” Bernie says, thinking of it now. “I have… in my locker. A spare shirt. Not as nice as this but also not covered in vomit.”

“A step up then,” Serena says.

“Want it?”

“Very generous, Ms. Wolfe, but you’re…” She waves her hand up and down. “And I’m…” She waves her hand side to side. 

“No,” Bernie says. “Come on, it’ll be fine.”

The shirt is very simple. It’s her back-up shirt, a simple plain cotton shirt meant to look as good with a pair of denim trousers as it might under a suit jacket. It’s white and clean, though it smells more of locker than detergent at this point. Serena takes it and looks at it critically. 

“This is not the Tesco button down I imagined,” Serena says. 

Bernie chuckles. “You can I have the one I wore in but you’re rather more… endowed and I think that the buttons might…”

She trails off helplessly.

“Gape?” Serena says. “Give way? Surrender?”

“Er…”

“I’ll not take the very shirt off your back, thank you very much,” Serena says. “Heaving bosoms or not.”

“I didn’t mean… I think the size of your… no wait, I didn’t mean that,” Bernie fumbles, her face growing warm.

“I will meet you downstairs,” Serena says with a smile she can’t suppress. 

“Right,” Bernie says. “Good.”

She is grateful to leave. 

Bernie doesn’t wait downstairs, she waits in their office. Serena comes in with her black pants and the white shirt on. It fits fine. It fits very well, actually. It looks far better on Serena than it ever had on her own lanky frame. Serena is curvy enough to do the clingy material justice. And Bernie can, very faintly, make out the shape of her dark bra underneath it. 

“I thought I said downstairs?” Serena says. Bernie grabs Serena’s coat off the rack and holds it up for her to slip into, which she does. 

“I thought we might walk together,” Bernie says. “Unless... “

“Unless what,” Serena says. “Would you like to drive to Albie’s? It’s maybe one car length away from here but by all means, Ms. Wolfe-”

“No, I thought we could possibly go someplace else. There’s a little pub near my flat that I’ve been meaning to try.” Bernie pushes the button to call the lift. “Albie’s is good, too.” 

“You want to go out for a real drink?” Serena says. 

“I just know when I’ve had a tough day, I don’t always want to spend it with half my colleagues,” Bernie says. “Which as I say it now, I can see is stupid.”

“Why is that stupid?” Serena says as they board. 

“Because you’re an extrovert,” Bernie says. “What’s good for my goose is not meant for your gander.” 

“Even loud mouthed show offs like a quiet evening now and again,” Serena says. “Teach me your introverted, avian ways.”

Bernie has to laugh. 

oooo

The pub is small but warm. It’s dark but not dank which was Bernie’s main concern. She settles Serena at a quiet table and goes to order drinks at the bar. She’s considering what they have on tap, but when the bartender gets over to her, she asks for the whole bottle of wine and two glasses.

“You have a Shiraz?” she asks. The man’s brow furrows. He must be barely out of school, he hardly seems old enough to be tending a bar. 

“Let me check in back,” he says. But he does manage to produce one and she carries it back in one hand, two glasses in the other. 

“A bottle,” Serena says. “A quiet pub, a whole bottle of wine, your company. How you do spoil me, so.” She has a little self-satisfied smirk and the uncertainty of this situation - a new place, the two of them alone - floats away into the night. Bernie pours a glass for Serena and then for herself. 

“I’m sorry he didn’t make it,” Bernie says after a beat.

“The police said he was wanted for robbing a corner shop. He and the shop owner got into an altercation and that’s what caused his injuries. That’s why the police came so quickly,” Serena says quietly.

“And the shop owner?” Bernie asks.

“Already dead,” Serena says.

“I see,” Bernie says. “I can see how that might put one in an ethically grey area mood wise.”

“You bought me a bottle,” Serena says. “So that does help.” 

“Should I go get something else for myself?” Bernie asks. “Leave you two alone?”

Serena shakes her head. “For you, I share. But don’t spread that around.”

Bernie closes her mouth, pretends to lock it. Fancifully tosses away the key.

oooo

“How are things with Charlotte?” Serena asks. The bottle is nearly empty now and not equitably so. It has favored Serena heavily - Bernie can see it in the flush of her skin. Can tell, also, because that’s not a question Serena would ask her sober.

“They’re not, really,” Bernie says. “Still waiting.” 

“Oh,” Serena says sadly. “Tell me more about her, would you?”

“I actually think she’d like you,” Bernie says. Charlotte was always her little grudge holder, always quick with a smart remark. Had a dry wit that Serena would surely appreciate and recognize. 

“I know I’d like her, if she’s anything like you,” Serena says. 

“She’s exactly like me,” Bernie says. “I think that’s part of the problem.”

“So she’s smart? And funny? And kind?” Serena asks.

“She’s sullen,” Bernie says. “She’s moody and secretive. She’s… too smart.” 

“How can you be too smart?” Serena asks. 

Bernie shakes her head. “She’s never happy.”

“You’re not like that,” Serena says, running her finger around the rim of her glass only to stick it into her mouth.

But Bernie _is_ like that. Sullen, moody, full of secrets. She’s spent a lifetime being unhappy in an effort to improve the happiness of those around her and it’s paid off exactly nothing. Her family hates her and she’s left the military, the only place she’s ever felt remotely like herself and now the one bright spot of her day is seeing Serena but that, she knows, is not built to last. Because Serena is beautiful and bubbly and loving.

And straight. 

“What if we put some food into you,” Bernie says. 

Serena leans in and gives Bernie an eyeful of cleavage thanks to her new favorite shirt. “What if we did shots?”

She raises an eyebrow challengingly.

How can Bernie resist that?

oooo

Serena is singing loudly in the street. For as loud as she is and how hammered she is, she does have a surprisingly good voice.

“Shhh,” Bernie shushes loudly. 

Serena’s song dissolves into giggles. She starts to sag under the weight of them. Bernie quickly snakes her arm around Serena’s waist and pulls her back upright. 

“One more block,” Bernie says. “Almost there.”

“I’ve never been to your flat,” Serena points out. She’s still loud but her voice no longer echoes through the dark street. “How come you never invite me round?”

“Because I know you have standards,” Bernie says. They already share an office that Serena constantly gripes about. She knows her flat is much worse. But Bernie has had enough that she cannot drive Serena home. She’ll get a cup of coffee in her, wait half an hour and then somehow she’ll get Serena into her car and home. 

“You’re my standard,” Serena says. She reaches out, grabs at the hand Bernie has at her waist and squeezes at it. 

“You’re drunk, Ms. Campbell,” Bernie says. 

“So?”

She’s saved having to reply by reaching the door of her building. She holds it open for Serena who heads toward the lift.

“Lift’s out I’m afraid,” Bernie said pointing to the door to the stairs. “Only three flights.”

Serena makes a face, but follows her in.

They only make it two flights before Serena stops at a landing between floors and puts her back to the wall. 

“Almost there,” Bernie says, but that doesn’t make Serena budge so she stops and faces her. “You okay?”

Serena makes a small humming noise and closes her eyes. 

“Are you going to be ill?” Bernie asks. Wouldn’t be the first time she came across something disgusting in the stairwell. 

“No,” Serena says, her eyes fluttering open again. She reaches out and grabs at the front of Bernie’s coat. Clutches onto it. “Thank you for getting me drunk.”

“You’re very welcome,” Bernie says. “Did I do too good of a job?”

“I feel perfectly warm and sleepy and a little… brave,” Serena says, her eyes dropping down a bit. 

“Uh oh,” Bernie says, though she means it as a joke. Serena tugs on her coat and she shuffles a half step closer. “You sure you aren’t feeling sick? Are you going to revenge boot on my shirt?”

“Stop talking about vomit,” Serena murmurs. 

“Sorry.”

“I’ve been flirting with you all night and all you do is talk about vomit,” Serena says.

“I’m sorry, I’ll… wait, what?” Bernie says. 

“Do you think I look nice in your shirt?” Serena asks. She’s pulling on Bernie’s coat again, but this time Bernie stays put. Serena isn’t pulling hard enough to move her unless she wants to be moved. 

“Of course,” Bernie says. “But, ah, Serena, I think we ought to go up and have some water.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re drunk,” Bernie says helplessly.

“I’m tipsy,” Serena says.

“You were singing.”

“I always sing,” Serena says. She tugs again but because Bernie doesn’t move, Serena moves forward, bringing them awfully close together. Serena is only a little shorter than her and they are practically eye to eye, nose to nose, mouth to mouth. 

“What are you doing?” Bernie says very softly.

“What I’ve wanted to do for so long,” Serena says. 

“But,” Bernie says, confused and anxious and hopeful all at once. “You’re not…”

“Are you sure?” Serena says.

She closes the gap. 

oooo

It’s the bang of a door and the sound of feet on the stairs that finally break them apart. Bernie, always good in a crisis, immediately grabs Serena’s hand and pulls her to the steps as if they too have only just been using this stairwell to move floors and nothing else. 

A man passes them on his way down and no one makes eye contact. Serena stumbles a little behind her and then once more toward the top.

“Come on now,” Bernie says, her voice low. “Almost.”

Luckily her flat is at the end of the hall and near the door so it’s only a few more steps. Serena doesn’t let go of her hand and so Bernie fishes her keys out of her pocket and unlocks the door with her left hand, no easy feat after drinking and then undoing all her time spent sobering up getting drunk on Serena. 

Inside, Serena grins at her and goes in again for the kill but Bernie stops her with a hand to her shoulder and says, “Wait, wait, I think we ought to talk about this.”

“You?” Serena says. “Talk?”

“I just… you’re going to feel differently in the morning and I think it’s important that we not do anything… we regret…”

“Are you worried you’ll get me pregnant?” Serena asks and then starts to giggle at her own joke.

“All right, Ms. Campbell,” Bernie says. “I’m going to put on coffee.” 

“Loo?” Serena asks. 

Bernie points and Serena disappears down the hall and closes a door. 

Bernie busies herself making coffee and panicking internally. Serena had kissed her. Serena! Her beautiful, warm, very straight friend had kissed her. And not just a peck but a wet, deep, intentional kiss that had gone on several minutes with many detours to necks and jaws and once, an earlobe. 

The coffee pot beeps while she’s standing there daydreaming. She pours two mugs and realizes Serena has not yet returned. When she peeks down the hall, the door to the toilet is ajar. She pokes her head in anyway, to find it empty. Wanders with both mugs all the way down to the only other room in the place.

Serena is on her bed, clothes and all. Still in her shoes. 

Snoring. 

Bernie sips at her mug, sets the other on the nightstand. Pulls the throw blanket from the chest at the foot of the bed and drapes it over her.

oooo

Officially, she sleeps out on the couch but in truth, she does not sleep at all. She stays up long enough to see the first bits of light filter into the night sky as the sun starts to creep up over the horizon. 

She knows she dozes off a little because she wakes up to Serena’s voice in the other room. It takes her a moment of fighting through sleep to realize she’s talking on her mobile. A few more seconds of earwigging tells Bernie that she’s talking to Jason. 

“Yes, I know I ought to have but… well, because sometimes it just doesn’t work like that,” Serena says. “I do apologize because I know how it upsets you, but I didn’t do so maliciously.” Serena pauses and then says, “You know that you’re the most important thing in my life, dearest.”

Bernie stands and stretches.

“Did you?” Serena says. “What a smart lad you are. Tell me, how did it taste?”

Bernie rinses out the coffee carafe and the filter and starts a new pot. 

“No, I’m not alone, I’m with Bernie,” Serena says. And then she laughs, which happens to be one of Bernie’s very favorite sounds in the world. “We can talk about it later… Probably not until this evening… yes, soon, but just to shower and change my clothes and then I have to go back to work… Yes, just you and me tonight, I promise.”

Just like the night before, Bernie comes in with two mugs of coffee in her hand, but now Serena is awake.

“See you soon, love,” Serena says and lowers her phone, ends the call. Looks up at Bernie and takes the fresh mug. The cold, full one from last night is still on the nightstand. 

“Good morning,” Bernie says. “How do you feel?”

“Like a proper moron,” Serena says. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’ve absolutely nothing to be sorry about,” Bernie says kindly. 

“I find that hard to believe,” Serena says, sipping at the coffee and then going still, a wince on her face like she’s not sure she’s going to keep it down. They both wait a few beats but she seems like she’s going to be all right. “Tell me, did I really throw myself at you on the stairs or was that just a very vivid and embarrassing dream?”

“Oh,” Bernie says softly. “That was very real.”

“Bernie-”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bernie says. 

“Tell you what?”

“That you felt that way about me?” she says. 

“You’re giving me grief about not saying something aloud?” Serena says. “Rich.”

“It just could have saved us some time,” Bernie says, reaching out to touch Serena’s cold fingers. “And some heartache.”

“Well, it’s all very confusing, isn’t it?” Serena says, twisting her hand so that they’re holding them properly together. Fingers webbing, palms flush. “A bit new.” 

Bernie strokes her thumb back and forth across Serena’s skin. Serena rests her head against Bernie’s shoulder. 

“When you’re ready, I’ll take you home,” Bernie says. 

“Okay,” Serena says, sighing and closing her eyes, nuzzling into Bernie. “When I’m ready.”


	8. never a clean break, no one here to save me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked for: 5 Times Serena Got Way Too Involved With Patient Care???

_i._

Serena has already seen a dead body by the time she starts medical school. She has both seen the body dead and watched the body die. So all the time spent in discussion during lecture time preparing students to confront this inevitability seems somewhat frivolous to Serena. 

She says as much to a classmate who asks her about her dismissive attitude.

“Who did you see kick it, then?” they had asked. 

Serena had picked up her notes, tucked them carefully into her folder and slipped the folder into her rucksack. 

“My father,” she’d said. 

So, when the time comes for to see another human life slip away, she thinks she’s prepared. And she is. People die all the time, every moment of every day. Sometimes she can snatch them back, often she cannot. She helps them through it as best she can and then shakes it off. There are living patients who need her. Can’t dwell on those that are already gone.

Serena is doing a pediatric oncology rotation when she realizes she’s going to lose a patient. She’d applied for the rotation because it was the most elite, the hardest to get and she’d gotten it because Serena is a very good doctor. She’d focused on the prestige of the assignment and had not thought much about the content, the sort of thing it might entail. 

Elizabeth is seven-years-old and she has cancer and she’s going to die. Not someday, like everyone, not soon like many of the fellow patients on her ward, but today. Right now. Here, under Serena’s care, Elizabeth is dying. 

Serena isn’t sure what happened to Elizabeth’s mother except that she’s not here and never has been. Elizabeth is raised by her father who is currently weeping into her bedside. Serena is on the other side of the bed with Elizabeth’s little, cold hand in hers. 

Nothing to do but wait it out, now. 

Her breathing starts to fail. 

“Is she in a lot of pain?” her father asks Serena.

“No,” Serena says. “We’ve given her enough pain relief to make her comfortable.” 

“Do you think she’s very scared?” he says. 

That, Serena doesn’t have an answer to. So she leans over the small girl, brushes her fingers across the her forehead and says, “Lizzy, don’t be afraid. It’s all right, sweetheart. Just rest now.” 

They sit with the body, long after the life inside it has gone. Long after her shift is over. Long after she should have been home with her own daughter, not much younger than Elizabeth was. When she was still alive.

At the end of the rotation, the consultant asks her if she wants to stay on in oncology, if she has an interest in pediatrics. 

“No,” Serena says. “I don’t think I do.”

 

_ii._

Her first solo surgery is a perforated ulcer. 

She does it perfectly. Her superiors praise her, her colleagues are jealous. The F1s look up to her. She rides home on a wave of adrenaline and achievement. 

The patient dies in the night. A bleed. Not Serena’s fault. Could’ve happened to anyone. Just one of those things.

Serena goes over and over the chart. Her own notes and those of the others. She interrogates the nurses, demands to be present at the autopsy. She watches the footage of the procedure over and over, even makes an illegal copy of it so she can take the tape home and watch it in the middle of the night until Edward comes and makes her go to bed. 

She still can’t find what went wrong.

Just one of those things, everyone says.

She still has that file, even now, locked in the bottom desk of her drawer at Holby Hospital. She’ll never get rid of it. She’ll never stop pulling it out from time to time. No matter what job she takes, that file will come. When she retires, she’ll take it home with her. She’ll read it until she dies.

She doesn’t believe in an afterlife, but if there is one and she meets God at the pearly gates, her first question will be to ask what the hell happened with that perforated ulcer. What kind of joke had that been, anyway? To do something perfectly and have it not matter in the slightest.

 

_iii._

Serena still sees Amelia Collinsworth socially. She’d removed Amelia’s appendix in December of 2012, her first year at Holby. She’d been very professional, if a little more friendly than usual. And then, when she had been discharged, Serena had included her business card with her discharge papers, her home phone number written on the back. She just _liked_ the woman and it was so hard to make friends in a new town when one worked all the time. 

Amelia had waited over a month to call. Until she’d finished healing completely.

“Do you want to get lunch?” she’d asked over the phone.

“I’d love to,” Serena had replied. 

They still see each other every few months. Lunch or sometimes dinner. Go to the cinema if there’s something silly playing that no one else wants to see. If Serena gets too busy and Amelia doesn’t hear from her for awhile, she’ll start texting her more frequently and sometimes even call. 

“Tell me everything,” she’ll say. “Catch me up.”

Serena comes into the office one evening and Bernie says, “Your mobile has been beeping like crazy.”

Serena pats her pocket even though the phone is obviously not in it. She finds it on the desk under a folder and picks it up, looks at the list of texts, smiles.

“So, not an emergency then,” Bernie says.

“No, my friend,” she says, unlocking the phone to respond.

“With that smile?” Bernie says. “What’s his name?”

“Uh…” Serena says, surprised. “Amelia?”

“Oh,” Bernie says. She glances up at Serena with dark eyes and then looks quickly away again.

“Indeed,” Serena says. “No line of men at my door, Ms. Wolfe.”

“Just a line of women, it would seem,” Bernie says. “How do you know her?”

And here, for some reason, Serena lies. 

“Can’t remember… mutual friends, I think?” she says, tucking her phone away. “Anyway, how is your day going, Bernie? Tell me everything. Catch me up.”

 

_iv._

Morven comes to stay with her for a little while, after Arthur dies. They don’t discuss it, really. Serena just waits for all of the family to leave and then drives over, helps Morven pack a bag, takes her in.

“As long as you need, love,” Serena had said. It ends up being a little bit over a week. Nine days. She instructs Jason to leave her be. Let her sleep all day, let her watch television all night if that’s what she wants. Serena checks in with her when she’s home. Making sure she’s all right just before she leaves for work. Bringing her food on a tray when she gets home and makes dinner. After a few days, she coaxes Morven into a bath. Helps her take off her dirty, days old pajamas, sits with her while she spends the majority of the time in the tub weeping. 

Serena puts a folded towel down on the floor to help her knees and pushes up her sleeves and helps Morven wash her back and her face and her hair. Wraps her in a towel and a robe when she’s done. 

“What am I supposed to do?” Morven asks more than once.

“Nothing yet,” Serena promises her. “Just make it through an hour at a time.” 

On day seven, she comes down to eat dinner with them at the table and the relief is so enormous that Serena tears up at the sight of her. When she comes downstairs a couple days later in real clothes, Serena swells with pride.

“I think… I think I ought to go home,” she says. “Check on things.”

Serena drives her. They sit in her car outside the building. Morven looks at it for awhile and then, very suddenly, reaches over and engulfs Serena in a hug. 

They’re both weepy when she pulls back and says, “I don’t have a mum, you know.”

“I know,” Serena says.

“What you did for me…”

“It’s not over just because you’re ready to go home, my love,” Serena says. “You can come back any time.”

Morven nods, wipes her cheeks. 

“Thank you,” she says.

Serena nods. “You’re very welcome.” 

 

_v._

It’s just a sprained wrist, but it means Bernie can’t operate and earns her three days off of rest and healing. 

It also turns her into a menace. Serena can’t stay home with her because then AAU would be down two consultants, but Bernie is bored all alone all day and pounces on her and Jason the moment they walk in the door. 

“I made you dinner,” she says. “For you both.”

“Oh?” Serena says, warily. 

“Lamb pilaf,” Bernie says proudly. “My favorite thing to eat when I was in Kandahar. I followed a recipe and everything.”

“You made Lamb Pilaf left handed?” Serena asks, concerned now.

“But tonight is the night for bangers and mash,” Jason says loudly.

“I know, but we didn’t have any potatoes,” Bernie says.

They do. They’re in the pantry. Serena chooses not to point this out. “We can try Bernie’s pilaf, Jason, she worked very hard on it, I’m sure.”

“But I _want_ bangers and mash,” Jason complains.

“Maybe you’ll like it,” Bernie says reasonably. “And then we can have Lamb Pilaf night instead of bangers and mash night.”

She says it to lighten the mood. She says it as a joke, Serena knows she does. But Jason takes it badly, totally melts down. Yells, goes up to his room, slams the door, cries loud enough for them to hear. 

And Bernie just shuts down, unable to handle the emotional fallout of upsetting Jason so badly. She goes practically catatonic, sitting at the dining table, staring at her knees. 

“Lovely,” Serena says. 

First things first. She changes out of her clothes into something more comfortable. She calls for takeout from the pub down the road and orders Jason his dinner. She pays extra to have it delivered. She goes down, passes Bernie who has not seemed to have moved yet somehow now has a tumbler of whiskey sitting in front of her, even though she’s not supposed to mix her pain relief with alcohol.

The kitchen is a total disaster. Wrecked completely.

But in the midst of the mess, on the stove, is Bernie’s dinner. It looks good. It smells good. Serena, rather bravely, spoons some of it up and takes a bite. 

Tastes good. Tastes great, actually. 

She plates it up and carries it out to the table where Bernie sits. Sets it down and goes back to the kitchen, pulls a bottle of white wine out of the fridge and gets two glasses down from the cupboard. It’s not often she drinks white, so Bernie better appreciate it. 

“What about Jason?” Bernie asks softly.

“He needs time to calm down alone,” Serena says. “I’m starved, though.”

She pops the wine and pours them both a glass. Slides the hard stuff to the other end of the table.

“Hey,” Bernie says.

“Eat some of this delicious food,” Serena says. “You can have one glass of wine and that’s it. Doctor’s orders.”

Bernie doesn’t smile, but that vacant look starts to disappear. 

The doorbell rings half way through. 

“Jason!” Serena calls up the stairs. 

She has it all plated up for him by the time he comes down, looking much calmer. 

Serena hugs him, holds him tight before he sits down. “She didn’t know,” she says softly to him. “Now she knows.”

“Okay,” he says.

And just like that, things are fine again. 

Bernie has only been living with them for a few weeks, after all. Change is always rocky.

Later in bed, Serena has her take off her brace and inspects Bernie’s wrist, feeling the muscle and the bone, looking at the bruising. Then she refits the brace and makes sure Bernie takes one of her pain pills before they curl up together and turn off the light. 

Bernie rolls up against her, drops a sleepy kiss on her neck. “My favorite doctor,” she mumbles into Serena’s skin.

“My best patient,” Serena replies. 

“Of all time?” Bernie asks. 

“Of all time,” Serena confirms.


	9. and for once you let go of your fears and your ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> weprefertoeatout asked for: _Berena prompt Morning, [her] place Burnt toast, Sunday You keep [her] shirt [She] keeps [her] word And for once you let go Of your fears and your ghosts One step, not much, but it said enough You kissed on sidewalks You fight and you talk One night [she] wakes, strange look on [her] face Pauses, then says, you're my best friend And you knew what it was, [she] is in love_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tropes? no, I don't like tropes. [trips][hundreds of tropes fall out of my jacket] w-what, no these aren't mine [frantically tries to pick them up] shit I just [starts to sweat] I'm just holding this bed sharing for a friend, listen-

Serena sees Bernie’s flat for the first time and is uncharacteristically quiet when she walks in the door. She stands just inside, the fingers of her right hand tucked into her coat, slipping under the collar of her blouse, just over her heart. 

It takes Bernie a moment to notice, because she's shedding layers. Her coat and muffler, the drapey sweater under that. They've stopped by so Bernie can change clothes and then they are going out to a proper dinner. Not a drink, though not exactly a date because Serena is just her friend, after all. A real meal made up not of pastry or leftovers or soggy store bought sandwiches, but of nutritious food cooked by someone who knows what they are doing. 

They’ve been doing it a bit more, this sharing meals thing. Venturing out into the city, straying farther from the hospital when their shifts are done. The new Thai place was Bernie’s idea, Serena likes the Italian restaurant down by the University campus. Tonight, the French style bistro that they’ve both been to before but is well-liked and equidistant between their places. 

It’s a little nicer than the skinny jeans and jumper Bernie had thrown on in the morning. It’s not a hardship to make the stop, though it is something they’ve not done before. Been to each other’s houses. Bernie knows it’s insignificant but it feels like a step, a level up in their friendship. 

She drops her coat and is kicking off her shoes when she realizes that Serena has gone quiet and still. 

“Come in,” Bernie says. “I’ll only be a minute.”

Serena frowns, scans the room.

“What?” Bernie says.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Serena says in that voice of hers. All knowing, all judging. The kind of voice people just want to obey. “But I’ve seen nicer dormitories.” 

Bernie huffs affectionately. It’s hard to be too offended because she’s not wrong. She has a couch, a folding table with two folding chairs. Her television sits on an unpacked box. In the bedroom, though Serena can’t see that, her mattress sits on the floor, as does the lamp next to it. 

The kitchen isn’t bad off. It’s the part of the flat she uses the most. She bought a fairly decent set of pots and pans, extremely expensive knives. She has four plates, four bowls, four matching coffee mugs. Dish towels, a woven mat on the floor by the sink. She can’t hardly counter Serena’s observations by pointing out the fact that she’d purchased hand towels with a pattern of leaves on them instead of just plain white. That seems even more pathetic, somehow. 

“I don’t spend any time here,” Bernie says instead. “I sleep and shower here, I don’t… I guess I don’t care.” 

Serena steps in a few paces farther. “All right,” she says. “If you don’t care, why should I?”

“Just let me…” Bernie points to the closed door of the bedroom. Serena nods.

“Go on.” 

Bernie changes into the only pair of nice trousers she has, black, and a silk blouse in cranberry. And because it’s Serena, who always looks so nice, she throws caution to the wind and adds mascara, blush, a clear gloss to her lips. Fluffs her hair in the mirror before making a face at herself and giving up. She pulls on her boots, black, up to the knee, and is still zipping them when she stumbles back out into the living room, the bedroom door ajar behind her.

Serena is standing in the tiny kitchen, looking into the refrigerator. 

Bernie winces.

“Protein shakes are not _food_ , Berenice,” she says.

“I had a headmistress once who used that tone,” Bernie said. “Said my name exactly like that. Very scary stuff.”

“It’s only out of concern,” Serena says, letting the door shut. 

“I eat with you,” Bernie points out. “And I just need to do some shopping, that’s all. You caught me at the end of the week.” 

Serena raises one eyebrow. 

“Come on,” Bernie says, picking her coat back up. “Let’s get some wine into you. Come on, now.” 

This, at least, puts some pep into her step. Bernie locks the door of the flat and vows never to let Serena return. 

oooo

Serena takes their leftovers home with her and promises she’s going to bring them into work the next day for their lunches.

“I could do that myself,” Bernie points out.

“But you won’t,” Serena says. 

The lunches Serena packs them are… for lack of a better word, adorable. She has these square plastic containers, all sectioned off like the plates that Cam and Charlotte used to have when they were small. And in each little section, something delicious. Her leftover salad, the last of her pasta from the night before. And things she hasn’t seen - a bread roll and a pad of butter, a brownie. Not even from Pulses, but made at home and still a little bit warm when she opens the container. 

Maybe it’s good that Serena isn’t taking her lunch at the same time. Maybe it’s for the best, Bernie is alone in the break room when she pries off the lid that has a little sticky note on it that says _Bernie_ in Serena’s elegant scrawl. If Serena were here, Bernie would grin and stutter and it would be difficult, she thinks, not to touch Serena. More difficult than it already is.

Morven comes in to refill her coffee cup and peers over Bernie’s shoulder. 

“Ohh, fancy,” she says. 

“Serena,” Bernie murmurs, before she thinks better of it. Morven’s eyes widen just slightly and then her face breaks out into a smile.

“Smart,” she says. “Best to stay on her good side.”

“Especially when you share an office,” Bernie says. 

When Bernie has eaten, she washes out the container in the sink and pats it dry with paper towels. She will leave it on the corner of Serena’s desk. Maybe it will be returned to her, full once more. A pleasant thought. 

oooo

They have dinner on a Saturday night at a pub. Burgers and chips. Serena has wine and Bernie a beer. After they’re done eating, Serena glances at the dessert menu, tucked on the back of the cocktail menu, and frowns. 

“Nothing good?” Bernie asks. She doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth and rarely orders dessert at a restaurant but Serena almost always seriously considers it and orders it, too, half the time.

“I have ice cream at mine, shall we just go there? Jason should be home soon anyway,” she says. 

“If you need to go…” Bernie hedges.

“I don’t need to,” Serena says. “I also don’t _need_ ice cream but it’s there. Anyway, Jason asked about you so I think he might like to see you, if you’re amiable to that.”

“Yes, always,” she says. “All right then, to yours.”

She’s been outside of Serena’s house, but never inside of it. She’d been invited before, once or twice, but had not accepted because she didn’t trust herself or maybe felt, if she were being more honest, that she didn’t quite deserve it. But they’ve been spending so much time together lately. Now it would seem strange if she didn’t. So she does.

It’s a proper house, on the larger side for the area. Bernie knows Serena kept it in the divorce and it makes sense, a large house for two doctors and their well-loved little girl. Now it’s just Serena and Jason, rattling around with two extra bedrooms and an office downstairs, too. 

Serena lets them in, starts barking orders immediately. “Coat here, shoes off, too, if you please.” 

She hangs her coat on the row of hooks while Serena pushes through to the warm inside of the house. She hesitates for a moment, weighs the pros and cons of keeping her shoes on and facing Serena’s consternation when Bernie disobeys her direct orders and then toes her shoes off and follows in her socks. She already feels exposed just being in Serena’s house, now she has to face with one less piece of armor, so to speak. 

Jason is in an armchair, facing the television. He has beat them home.

“Say hello to Bernie, Jason,” Serena instructs, turning on another lamp and touching her nephew’s shoulder as she passes.

“Hello,” Jason says, flickering his eyes over to Bernie and then back again. 

“Hello,” Bernie says. 

Serena disappears into the kitchen and then pops her head back out and says, “Jason, did you eat your dinner?”

“Yes,” Jason said. 

“Do you want ice cream?” she asks.

He sighs, reaches out and pauses what he’s watching with the remote control. Bernie looks around the room. A couch and a love seat, the armchair, a coffee table with dark wood. A fireplace that’s not lit, photographs in frames lining the mantle. One of Jason and what Bernie can only assume is his mother, the sister Serena never got to meet. One of Arthur and Morven on their wedding day. Serena would never admit it to Morven, doesn’t like to be seen as sentimental at work, but Bernie finds it sweet. 

One of what must be Elinor.

“What kind of ice cream is it?” Jason asks. 

She’s lovely. Long dark hair, the same chestnut shade as her mother’s. She’s got Serena’s pale skin, but not her dark eyes that always seem to shift from hazel to grey to brown. Elinor’s are blue, or maybe green. The picture is obviously a production still of some play. Elinor has on too much make up, a dress from an era past. But Bernie can see through all of that, can see that she is a very pretty girl. Only a year older than Charlotte. She wonders if they know each other, Elinor and Charlotte. They both grew up in Holby. Maybe they went to the same schools?

“We have vanilla and some of the mint left, I think,” Serena says. 

Jason takes a moment to consider it. “Mint, please.”

Bernie turns away from the mantle, tucks her hands into the pockets of her trousers.

“Need some help?” she asks. 

Serena cocks her head, inviting her into the kitchen.

The first thing Bernie thinks is that the kitchen could use a remodel, which is unkind. It’s not a bad space, just dated. But when on earth would Serena have time to oversee a remodel? Bernie jams her hand back into her pocket and gives one thigh a pinch. She’ll be kinder. She’ll start now. 

Bernie isn't very hungry but she takes the bowl of vanilla ice cream that Serena offers all the same. Serena’s dishes are a little fussy for Bernie’s taste - cream with a border of blue flowers and some greenery. Bernie has never been much for florals but she's not surprised by the dishes which means they suit Serena. The whole house does and Bernie finds the longer she is in it, the more comfortable she becomes. The house is merely an extension of Serena and Bernie is all too comfortable with her. 

Jason doesn't care whether they watch his programme with him or not so they don't, opting instead to sit at the dining table. Blue tablecloth, green place mats. Serena’s spoon scrapes at the bottom of her bowl while Bernie is still watching the majority of her ice cream melt and pool. 

“You're awfully quiet, Ms. Wolfe,” Serena comments. 

“Yes,” Bernie says. “I've been told so all my life.”

Serena smiles, sets her bowl aside and reaches for Bernie’s. She happily lets it go. 

“If you don't want it…”

“No,” Bernie agrees. 

“Waste not, want not,” Serena says, picking up Bernie’s spoon and popping it upside down into her mouth. It is an innocent enough gesture but to Bernie it feels obscene. Heat flares; she knows she's blushing. 

Serena smiles around the spoon, a little bit smug. 

oooo

Serena is a shopper. Bernie finds it a dreadful chore but goes along with it because Serena herself is not a chore, but an indulgence that Bernie keeps allowing herself. They spend most days at work together - or nearby if not actually side by side - and now have dinner often during the week. At least two nights. Sometimes three. Four if she counted drinks after work last week.

Bernie does not.

Serena had been vague about their destination today, even when pressed. It is a rare thing, a day off that they share.

Serena drives because she says Bernie’s car is too small. 

“Too small for what?” Bernie asks.

“This and that,” Serena says dismissively. 

Serena buys them coffee first, and croissants, perhaps in an effort to subdue further questioning by keeping mouths full. 

Serena drives like she performs in the theatre. Expertly, calculatingly, carefully but not fearfully. Bernie sits with her head back against the seat’s headrest, lets her eyes close for only a moment.

She wakes to Serena’s hand on her thigh, just above her knee.

“We’re here,” Serena says softly. Bernie reaches out and covers Serena’s hand with her own. She doesn’t know why she does it, except perhaps that she’s in the liminal space between asleep and awake. Where inhibitions grow weak.

Serena looks at their hands touching and then, after a moment, turns her hand over so they are palm to palm. She laces their fingers together. They hold hands - ten, then fifteen seconds.

Thirty seconds. 

Nearly a whole minute now.

Serena says, “Bernie,” very softly and it breaks the spell.

Bernie lets her go and uses her other hand to open the car door. Tries to get out but is yanked back. She undoes her safety belt and tries again. In the car park, she sees Serena smooth her hair, her coat, touch her earring and then the pendant at her neck nervously.

Serena has taken them to a large department store. Bernie thinks about Serena’s hand as she follows her into the store, up an escalator, into the furniture department. She thinks about soft skin, about rounded, polished nails. She thinks about the time they’d arm wrestled and how stupid Bernie had been to let her win as quickly as she had. How she could have dragged it out much longer. How she’d like to drag out other things. 

“Okay, I think a bed frame at least,” Serena says, stopping them in front of a display of several beds. 

“What’s wrong with the one you’ve got?” Bernie asks. She’s never seen Serena’s bedroom - has not yet ventured up the stairs. 

“What? No, nothing. I _have_ one,” Serena says pointedly.

It takes Bernie a moment to process this. She puts a hand to her hip.

“For me?”

“Yes, Bernie, for you. I peeked through your open bedroom door, so _sue_ me. Your mattress on your floor like you’re nineteen,” Serena scoffs. “I’d like to get you a whole bedroom set.”

“No-”

“Which I know you won’t go for, but a bed, yes. I insist. Even if I have to pay for it myself.”

“You will not pay for it,” Bernie says. “I can pay for a bed, Serena.”

“Good,” Serena says, pleased. “I like an oak myself.” 

“No,” Bernie says. “Oak is too light. I like a darker wood. Or metal, even.”

Serena gives her a sideways glance; Bernie can see the muscles in her neck contract as she swallows. 

“Dark it is, then,” she says.

Bernie doesn’t buy a bed from the department store. But she does narrow it down to a style that she likes and then she and Serena drive back to her flat and sit on the sad, saggy sofa next to one another and find a similar bed online for half the price. 

She allows Serena to dig through her purse for her wallet. Serena finds it, hands it over and busies herself cleaning the purse out while Bernie pecks her credit card information into the website. Serena pulls out napkins, receipts, loose change. She separates the pound coins from the smaller ones and busies herself arranging Bernie’s wallet, next. 

“What are you doing?” Bernie finally asks with a laugh. 

“Your life is a mess,” Serena says. “I like tidying.”

“My life is not a mess,” Bernie says defensively. Serena raises an eyebrow. “Not all of it.”

“Now your purse isn't either,” Serena says. 

Bernie turns back to the computer and clicks a button. “Bed purchased. Any other requests, Fraulein?” 

“Oh yes,” Serena says scooting in so they're hip to hip. “A glass of wine and let's look at area rugs.”

“Um,” Bernie says. 

“Did you invite me to your flat without having wine?” Serena asked in a low, threatening voice. 

“You stay here,” Bernie says picking up her wallet. “Make yourself comfortable. Snoop around. I’ll run to the corner shop.”

Serena nods. “I do like a snoop.”

Bernie has nothing to hide, really. There’s nothing Serena can find that worries her. No secret diaries of feelings. No hidden pictures of past lovers. No embarrassing toys in the nightstand. No nightstand. 

When Bernie comes back, wine in a paper sack, Serena appears to be nowhere. She closes the front door behind her, loudly, to give Serena a chance to come out of hiding. The flat isn’t the large and she can see the door to the bathroom ajar. The bedroom is the only place she could be unless she’d left suddenly.

She sets the wine on the counter, sheds her coat, and goes into the bedroom. 

Serena Campbell in her bedroom. A sight one could write sonnets about. 

She’s standing at the wardrobe and when she sees Bernie, she reaches in and pulls something out.

“What is _this_?” Serena asks a little breathlessly.

“I was sort of kidding about the snooping,” Bernie says. Serena just waggles the garment at her. “It’s a toaster, Serena, what do you think it is? It’s a frock.”

“It’s a gown,” Serena corrects. It’s Bernie’s only fancy frock and is on the plain side. It’s strapless, but black and not fussy. 

“So it is,” Bernie says. 

“Why do you have it?” Serena asks. “And more importantly, will you wear it?”

“No fashion shows,” she says. “And I have it because occasionally life demands you to go to fancy events and one can't always wear one’s dress uniform.”

Serena blinks a little, fluttery blink and puts a hand to her neck. “Dress uniform?”

“Marcus always had to go to a lot of fundraisers and he preferred me not to wear the uniform if I was around to go with him,” Bernie admits. “I think he wanted a trophy wife on those occasions, not the Major.”

“Marcus is remarkably stupid,” Serena says, shoving the dress back into the wardrobe. “Is your uniform here?”

Bernie tilts her head, smiles at her softly. “In storage, I’m afraid.” 

Serena is flushed enough that Bernie can see it from several feet away. Her cheeks, her neck, down the triangle of skin across her chest that Bernie can see before the fabric of her clothing starts to obscure things. 

“Pity,” she says, aiming for casual and sounding slightly distraught. 

“Anyway,” Bernie says, stepping aside so she’s not blocking the doorway. “I’m not active duty anymore, so I really have no occasion to wear it.”

Serena understands Bernie’s body language and leaves the bedroom, stops in the kitchen where Bernie has left the bottle of wine. 

“Black dresses though,” Serena says. “Those never go out of style.”

Bernie chuckles, opens a drawer and pulls out a corkscrew. Serena takes it; their fingers brush. 

“Wine glasses just there,” Bernie says, pointing to the cupboard. 

Serena nods, pops the cork out cleanly.

oooo

They share an inbox, a tray that sits on the seam of where their desks are pushed together. Bernie pretty much ignores it all, depending on Serena to sort mail out and leave the important things on Bernie’s keyboard where they can’t be forgotten for very long. 

She’s standing, sorting things now. Most things go to her side - just as well - but then she smiles and tosses something to Bernie. A thick, cream envelope. _Ms. Berenice Wolfe_ written in ink. 

“What’s that?” Bernie says, eyeing it as if it might snap at her fingertips. 

“It’s an invitation,” Serena says, sounding positively giddy about it.

“To what?” Bernie asks.

“The gala,” Serena says. 

“The _what?_ ” Bernie says.

“It’s an annual hospital fundraiser,” Serena says. “All department heads are expected to attend.” Serena leans in a little and says, “That means you.”

“No,” Bernie says.

“Afraid so.”

“You’re the _real_ department head,” Bernie says.

“Tosh.”

“Someone will need to stay on the ward-”

“You’re certainly welcome to take it up with Hanssen,” Serena says. “But I know what he’ll say.”

Bernie pulls out the invitation, ripping the back of the envelope all to shreds in the process, just because she knows it will bother Serena, and when she glances up, she can see that it has. Still, Serena holds her tongue and watches Bernie pull out the thick paper, read it over with a little frown. 

“I don’t even get a plus one?” she asks. 

Serena sits up. “And just who would you bring?”

“Dunno,” Bernie says. “Not the point, is it?”

“There’s an open bar,” Serena says. “It’s not all bad. And I thought…”

“What?”

“I mean, we may as well arrive together,” Serena says. “Not a plus one, I know, but…”

“A united AAU,” Bernie says, carefully.

“Something of the sort,” Serena says without looking at her. 

oooo

If this was a date, Bernie would have made arrangements to pick Serena up, but it’s not. In fact, they both have to work their full shift and get ready in the hospital. Bernie brings the black dress not to please Serena but because it’s the only thing she already owns and she’s certainly not going shopping for a hospital fundraiser she’s being forced to attend. The best thing about the black dress is that it doesn’t wrinkle, something about the material, so she has it balled up in her gym bag. 

Serena, fittingly, comes it with a garment bag and hangs it from the coat rack in the morning. Brings in nice shoes and makeup and different jewelry. 

“Oh, what?” she asks, when Bernie side eyes it all. “We’re supposed to be making the hospital money. A little effort couldn’t hurt.”

“You always put in the effort, Serena,” Bernie says. “There’s nothing wrong with that.” 

Serena’s lips curl up just slightly. “Well thank you for noticing, Ms. Wolfe.”

Serena is in theatre now, even though the party starts in half an hour. So Bernie takes her bag and gets ready in the locker room. Morven comes in part way through and helps her zip her dress up. 

“You’re so lucky,” she says dreamily. 

“What?” Bernie scoffs. “This is a punishment, believe me.” 

“Fancy party, free food, open bar…” Morven says. “Rubbing elbows with Holby’s elite.” 

“One day,” Bernie says, “You’ll be forced to attend something like this and you’ll think back to poor old Ms. Wolfe and realize that she was right.” 

“Serena seems excited,” Morven points out.

“Serena loves wine,” Bernie says. “And small talk. And looking beautiful and boasting about her medical prowess.”

Morven pats her back and Bernie turns around.

“Well you clean up nice, anyway,” Morven says. 

“Thank you, Dr. Digby,” Bernie says.

“What are you doing to do about the rest?” Morven asks.

“The rest of what?” 

Morven waves her hand around her own head and says, “Hair and makeup and stuff.”

“Er.” Bernie says and reaches up, pulls the elastic out of her hair. Shakes her head out a little. All that does really is make her fringe fall into her eyes.

“I see,” Morven says. 

“I think there’s a brush in my bag somewhere,” Bernie says.

“It’s okay,” Morven says. “Go to your office. I’ll be right there.” 

“Don’t you have patients?” Bernie asks.

“Raf knows to page me,” she says. “It’ll only take a moment.”

When Morven does show up to the office, she’s got an armful of things. Beauty related things. She drops them onto Serena’s desk and pokes through them. Makeup and brushes, a mirror, odds and ends. She drags a chair over and points at it. Bernie relocates from her own, offers up the hairbrush she’d dug out of her gym bag. 

“Great,” Morven says. “You don’t mind, right?”

“I clearly need the help,” Bernie says with a laugh. With Marcus she hadn’t ever cared that much. A little mascara, some clear lip gloss. But she’s going as a representative of Serena’s domain and she feels reluctant to let Serena down. 

Morven doesn’t do much besides brush out her hair and tuck the longer strands of her fringe behind her ear. Then she sits in the chair and chooses some things from her collection. A tiny brush, a small pot of something. 

“Close your eyes,” Morven says. 

It tickles slightly, as Morven paints something across her lid and out. She works quietly. They can hear slightly the bustle of the ward and the hum of the computers near them, but it’s nice to sit in the quiet. To not feel like they need to fill it up with chatter. 

“Okay, open,” Morven instructs. She gets out mascara, coats Bernie’s lashes. 

Finds a brush, chooses some rouge and makes Bernie’s cheeks look flushed. As she’s doing this, Bernie notices Serena’s dress is gone from the coat rack. She must be out of theatre. 

“I have this pretty pink color,” Morven says, holding up a silver tube of lipstick. “But I also have this.”

She picks up a black tube and plucks the cap off. It’s a dark red.

“Oh,” Bernie says. “That’s… a bit much, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s perfect,” Morven says. 

“I’ll get it everywhere,” Bernie warns.

“No, it’s matte. No transfer,” she says. “We can always take it off if you don’t like it.” 

Bernie gives in, allows Morven to drag it across her lips. 

Raf comes into the office, says, “Morven, we need you on the ward.” 

“Sure,” she says. “Leave this stuff, I’ll come collect it later.”

“Lookin’ good,” Raf says. 

“Thank you,” Bernie says, already horrified by the attention. She picks up Morven’s hand mirror and looks into it. She’d winged out the eyeliner, her eyelashes look huge. Her lips are dark, but it doesn’t look as bad as she’d imagined it. 

She’s just stepping into her shoes - a modest heel - when Serena comes in and stops abruptly, as if she’d hit some sort of invisible wall. She looks quite pretty, Bernie thinks. Her dress is blue, the sleeves are lacy and stop at her elbow. The whole thing is a bit sparkly and has a lower neckline than Serena generally wore. 

Bernie flashes her a smile and says, “Good! We may make it on time after all.”

“You look…” Serena just trails off.

“It’s a bit much, I know,” she says. “I let Morven get carried away playing dress up, I think.” 

“It’s nice,” Serena manages. “It’s good.”

“Really?” Bernie says. “I feel like a prostitute.”

“An expensive one, maybe,” Serena says. “An escort.”

Bernie barks out a laugh. The dress is strapless, her shoulders and arms are bare, so she puts on her coat so they can walk over to the hotel lobby where the event is being held. It’s a short walk, but Bernie spends every step regretting her shoes. Serena is also in heels and walks much more confidently. Serena is more convincingly glamorous than Bernie will ever be. Bernie mostly just feels like a fraud and this feeling is not helped by how Serena keeps glancing over at her.

“I feel like a fool,” Bernie finally says.

“You don’t look foolish,” Serena reassures her. “I quite like it.”

“I couldn’t do it every day,” Bernie hedges.

“No, but once in a great while is fun. Like wearing a costume.”

“Well,” Bernie says. “You look lovely.” 

Serena just laughs. “Thanks for finally noticing.”

Bernie winces. “Sorry. I noticed, I just…”

Serena waves it away.

They leave their coats with the coat check, hold onto nothing but their mobile phones in case the hospital should call them back in. Serena tucks her phone into her bra and Bernie pretends not to see.

“Wine?” Bernie asks, gesturing toward the bar.

“Or champagne, whatever is in easy reach,” she says. “I’ll go make a spectacle in front of Henrik so he knows we’re here.”

The bar is the happening place to be but Bernie wedges herself in and miraculously, a bartender appears after only a few moments.

“What’ll it be, love?” he asks.

He’s probably a good ten years younger than her, but he winks as he says it. It’s been a long time since that’s happened to her.

“Champagne,” she says and holds up two fingers.

“My pleasure,” he says. He pulls two flutes from under the bar and pops a new bottle for her. She nods her head in thanks before taking them and heading toward the center of the crowd. She can see Hanssen’s head over most everyone else and then, when closer, Serena. She falls in at Serena’s side, hands her the flute. Serena takes it without looking.

“Hello, Ms. Wolfe,” Hanssen says. “So nice of you to join us this evening.”

“Mandatory fun is my favorite kind,” she reassures him. 

“How fortuitous,” he says. 

“Is it?” she asks.

He nods his head toward an older gentleman in an expensive tuxedo. “It is,” he says. “Mr. Bollinger is an army veteran and has a habit of giving his money to St. James and not to us, but he has gotten wind of our new Trauma bay and was most interested. I think he might enjoy speaking to you in particular.”

“Throwing her to the wolves first thing?” Serena asks. 

“It’s all right,” Bernie says, touching her arm. “I’m a good girl. Off I go.”

“Cheers,” Hanssen says, very dryly. 

Bernie finds that she likes Mr. Bollinger. She speaks to him through her entire flute of champagne, listens to his stories and speaks openly about the new trauma bay, how it has helped, how they still need more. Better equipment, more training, dedicated staff. She even tells him how much she enjoys working with Serena and is just in the middle of talking Serena up when the woman herself comes up to them. She sets a new flute next to Bernie. 

“Not to interrupt,” she says with a smile. “But they want us to take our seats for dinner.” 

“It’s been a pleasure,” Bernie says, shaking his hand. “And I meant it, if you ever want to come see the bay, I’d happily give you a tour.”

“As long as you come as our guest, not our patient,” Serena chimes in, touching Bernie’s shoulder. 

He chuckles. “Understood.” 

“That seemed like it went well,” Serena says as they make their way toward their seats. They’re at the same table, which is a blessing. 

“It wasn’t bad,” Bernie says. “Oh look, we’re next to one another, even.”

Serena looks askance somewhat guiltily.

“You rearranged it?” Bernie asks. 

“I admit to nothing,” she says. “Sit down.” 

They’re part way through the meal when Bernie’s mobile goes off.

“It’s the ward,” she says. Serena snatches the phone right out of her hand and answers it.

“Hello? Oh, Fletch, hi. Oh, both of us? Are you sure? Well, all right, we’re on our way,” Serena says. She hands the phone back. 

“AAU?” Bernie asks.

Serena nods gravely. Turns to the table and says, “Excuse us, all. Duty calls.”

They get their coats. Bernie holds up Serena’s so she can slip her arms in and then gets into her own.

“Did they say what kind of injury?” Bernie asks when they’re headed back toward the hospital on foot.

“Oh, no,” Serena says with a chuckle. “There’s nothing.”

“What? I thought Fletch called-”

“He did call, right on time, too,” Serena says. Bernie gives her a look, her eyebrows rising. “What, don’t give me that face. Only an amateur stays for the whole entire thing. The food wasn’t even that good and they didn’t have a Shiraz, I checked.” 

“That’s a ballsy move, Ms. Campbell,” Bernie says. “I’m a little bit impressed.” 

“Only a little?” Serena asks. 

Bernie barks out a laugh. “Always a lot impressed with you, Serena, believe you me.” 

“I always go pop my head into AAU just so if anyone asks, we did actually go back,” Serena says. 

“Plus our other clothes are still there,” Bernie says. “I guess it’s nice. I could use the extra time.”

“Could you? What for?” 

“My bed frame arrived today. I have to finish putting it together. It’s all in pieces on the bedroom floor, mattress up on the side. It’s gonna take awhile,” Bernie says. “Thanks for that, by the way. Sleeping on my own couch.”

“Oh, blow it off and come spend the night with me,” Serena says. And then she must realize how that sounds, because Bernie realizes it and feels a rush of warmth. “You know what I mean. I do have a guest room.”

“What about Jason?” Bernie asks softly. 

“Why should Jason mind, he adores you,” Serena says. “Plus, I have wine.”

Bernie nods thoughtfully. “All right.”

“Really?” Serena asks with a very genuine looking smile. Her necklace has gone askew, the pendant flipped the wrong direction. Bernie reaches out and flips it over, rights the chain back to the center of her chest. 

“Really,” she says. “As in, I really don’t want to put that bloody bed together.”

She grins at Serena who smiles back. 

They don’t bother to change at the hospital, just gather up their things. Serena thanks Fletch for his phone call and he leans down and kisses her on the cheek, which sets her all aflutter. 

“Your staff really loves you,” Bernie says in the lift as they ride back down. “You inspire them.”

“They put up with me,” Serena says. “And they’re your staff, too.”

“They like me,” Bernie says. “But you’re… now that I think about it, they may only like me because you do.” She gives Serena a little nudge with her elbow. 

“Do I?” Serena says. “How can you tell?”

“You just invited me for a sleepover,” Bernie points out.

Serena snorts. “Are we going to braid each other’s hair? Put each other’s bras in the freezer?”

“Maybe if you’re bad,” Bernie says. Serena just waggles her eyebrows in response.

In the car park, Bernie says, “Shall I follow you, then?”

“Oh just come with me, we’ll sort it all out later,” Serena says.

Bernie doesn’t argue. 

When they arrive to Serena’s home, Jason is sitting at the dining room table with his laptop, peering into the screen. He glances up and smiles.

“You’ve brought home Bernie!” he says.

“I have,” Serena confirms. 

“Hope you don’t mind, Jason,” Bernie offers.

“I don’t mind,” he says. “But I didn’t think you’d be home so soon, Auntie Serena.” 

“We snuck out early,” Serena says. She shrugs out of her coat and so Bernie does the same. Serena takes them both to go hang them up. 

“I’ve never seen you wear a dress before,” Jason says. 

“It’s a rare occurrence,” Bernie promises.

“And your lips are very dark,” he points out.

“What do you think about it all?” she asks. 

He looks her up and down thoughtfully. “I like you better when you look like you.”

She grins. “Me too. I can’t wait to take it all off.”

“Take what off?” Serena asks, coming back in.

“All her clothes,” Jason supplies helpfully.

“Ah,” Serena says. “Oh, well. Yes.” 

“He means change them,” Bernie says. “And wash this muck off my face.”

“Come on upstairs, you can use one of my makeup wipes,” Serena says. “Have you been upstairs before?”

Bernie shakes her head. 

“I’ll show you the guest room, you can get changed,” she says.

“She can’t use the guest room!” Jason says, standing. He stands so quickly that the legs of his chair screech along the floor. Serena turns slowly to face him, a dark look on her face. 

Bernie steps back, hoping to avoid a family dispute. 

“Why?” Serena demands.

“She’ll upset my collection,” he says. “It’s all in order.”

Serena closes her eyes and says, “Collection of what?”

“My things,” he says. 

Bernie can’t help it, she steps in trying to sooth things and says, “May I see your collection, Jason?” 

He considers this and then says, “Yes.”

So then it’s Jason who leads her up the stairs to the next story of Serena’s house. Bernie leaves her heels at the foot of the stairs, looks over her shoulder at Serena and winks. Serena just rolls her eyes but she can’t hide her smile. 

“This used to be Elinor’s room,” Jason explains. “But now Auntie Serena says it’s for guests but we never have any guests who spend the night so I didn’t think it would matter. No one comes in here anymore.”

He opens the door to reveal that the room is covered in… stuff. Odds and ends. Bits and bobs. The dresser is covered with postcards, the bed completely encased in toy cars, the floor by the window lined with model planes. On and on. 

“You have a lot of very nice things,” Bernie says earnestly. “A fine collection.”

“Yes but why is in here?” Serena asks somewhat impatiently.

“I was organizing,” Jason says. “I needed to see everything at once before I came up with an organizational system. And anyway, Elinor never comes here.”

Bernie can’t look at Serena when he says that. She’s in no place to judge anyone’s relationship with their children and anyway, she thinks it probably has more to do with Elinor than Serena because Bernie can see quite clearly that Serena loves Jason with a blazing fierceness. 

“It’s not a problem,” Bernie says. “I can just go home.” 

“No you can’t, the whole point of you coming here was that your room is in shambles,” Serena says.

“The couch, then,” Bernie says.

“That couch is barely long enough for me to sleep on, plus it’d be hell on your back,” Serena says.

“Bernie is your best friend, Auntie Serena,” Jason says. 

Both women stop to turn to look at him.

“You’ve told me that many times,” he says.

“Er, yes, I have,” Serena admits. 

“You can just share,” he says. “My mum always said girl best friends were like sisters. Sisters share things.” 

Bernie glanced at Serena who softened at Jason speaking about his mother - something that must not happen too often from the look of things. 

“Yes,” Serena says. “But…”

“Bernie do you consider Auntie Serena your best friend?” Jason asks. 

“I would,” Bernie says. She doesn’t exactly have sisterly thoughts about Serena but she keeps that observation to herself. 

“Your bed is quite large,” Jason says. “And then you won’t disturb my things.” 

“You need to consider whether Bernie is comfortable with that arrangement,” Serena finally says. 

Bernie leans against a bare bit of wall and crosses her arms. “In the army we used to have to cram in close quarters, sleep on the ground, on cots, in horrible weather,” she says. “So I can safely say that it’s not the worst offer for a night’s lodgings I’ve ever had.” 

She ought to say no, but she does so love when Jason uses logic against his aunt. 

“Countdown in twelve minutes,” Jason announces before going back downstairs. 

“If you mind-” 

“I don’t,” Serena says. “Do you?”

Bernie shakes her head no. 

Serena’s room isn’t large, or maybe it is but it’s just filled up with her mattress, her large wooden bedframe. The carved headboard, the matching footboard, the pile of pillows. The bed has been made neater, though is not fully made. Bernie finds the rumpled quilt endearing. 

“What clothes do you have in that bag you brought?” Serena asks, pulling her earrings out and tossing them into an open jewelry box on her bureau. 

“Just my civvies,” she says, inspecting a framed picture of Elinor on the wall. 

“I’ll try to find something that won’t immediately fall off of you,” Serena says, tugging open a drawer and rummaging through it. She pulls out scrub bottoms - maroon. “These have a drawstring.”

“Nicked em from Keller, did you?” Bernie asks.

“Once upon a time,” she says. “Are you going to tell on me to Mr. Hanssen?”

“We’re living in fiscally trying times, Ms. Campbell,” she says, doing her best impression, and Serena breaks into a peal of laughter and turns back to her set of drawers. 

“That’s good,” she says. “A comedienne, who knew?” She pulls out a white t-shirt.

“No scrub top?” Bernie asks. 

“Lost that somewhere along the way, I’m afraid,” she says. “Turn around, I’ll get your zipper started.”

She’s so matter of fact about it, that Bernie simply follows the order and doesn’t realize what she’s done until Serena’s fingers are on the bare skin of her back.

“I liked your frock very much,” she says softly. 

“I’m afraid the jig is up if we have to attend another one of these things,” Bernie says. “It’s the only one I’ve got.” 

“I’ve seen Ric in that tuxedo more times than I can count,” she says, feeling for the tab of the zipper. Bernie closes her eyes. “Why we have to wear something new and they can wear the same old penguin suit…”

She yanks the zipper and down it goes. Bernie holds the bodice of the dress in place. She’d simply change in front of Serena, usually, they’ve scrubbed up in the locker room together and military life had beat any sense of privacy out of her but she hesitates now because she doesn’t have anything on under the dress except her black knickers. 

“Go ahead,” Serena says, gesturing to her ensuite. Bernie grabs the borrowed clothes and takes her up on the offer. When she closes the door, she lets the dress fall to the floor and looks at herself in the mirror over Serena’s sink. It’s not large enough to see more than her face and her shoulders. Her eyes are still heavy lidded with the dark eyeliner. Her lips are still red, though they’ve faded a bit with food and drink and time. 

She pulls the shirt on and then the pants. Wads up her dress and opens the door.

Serena has managed to unzip her own dress and is in more casual clothes, though always a variation of the same. Black pants and a large top, though much softer than her work fabrics. Bernie has wondered why she hides herself away in those large shirts but Serena seems happy and comfortable so that’s all that matters, really. 

“I told Jason he could start his programme without us,” Serena says. Bernie nods. “I’ll get you a wipe.” 

She takes the dress as she passes and Bernie lets her. Serena drops it into her own basket of things to be cleaned. 

Bernie feels warm, taken care of, strangely at home.

oooo

It’s all fine until everyone goes to bed and then it gets a little strange. They both act aggressively normal, but the tension is still there and noticeable. Serena gives her a new toothbrush and makes it a point to say she can just leave it in the holder. Bernie brushes her teeth and looks herself over in the mirror. The makeup is gone except for a tinge of red in the center of her lips where the pigment had stained. She looks tired but she feels keyed up. She’d had a long day, a full shift and then the gala and now it’s nearly midnight. Serena has tomorrow off, Bernie doesn’t have to go in until mid-morning. 

They swap places. It’s easy to tell which side Serena prefers. A stack of books on the nightstand, a cordless phone on it’s cradle. An emery board and a tube of lip balm. Bernie hesitates, wondering if she should wait for Serena before getting in but thinks that might be worse, crawling into the bed together, so she pulls back the quilt and the blanket under that and the sheet and sits down, tucking her feet under the covers.

She tries not to think about sex. 

Around Serena she always tries not to think about sex, but this evening has brought her to a new, more difficult level of that. Mostly Serena is straightforward and honest with her about her expectations. From Bernie she expects trust and honesty and professional competence and courtesy. Bernie tries to give her those things, tries not to make her attraction to Serena a problem for them. Serena is a flirt, sure, but with everyone and so Bernie doesn’t read anything into it. 

But there are other things that muddy the waters. That hand hold outside the department store was a bit of a head-scratcher. And the fact that she’s been invited into Serena’s home for the evening. Into her bed. Serena’s fingers on her skin, lowering her zipper. 

Serena comes out, gives her a shy smile. 

“I’m knackered,” she says. 

“It’s been a long day,” Bernie agrees and then pats the bed. “I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.” 

“You’re not a secret cuddler?” Serena asks, snapping on the lamp on her nightstand and then turning off the overhead light. Everything gets soft and dark. 

“If I am, it’s a secret to me, too” Bernie says. “How did Marcus put it? Like sleeping next to a dead fish.” 

“What a tosser,” Serena mutters, pulling back her half of the covers and sliding into the bed. Bernie slides down too, letting her head hit the pillow, rolling over to face Serena. Serena gives her a soft smile. 

“I had fun this evening,” Bernie admits. “Despite the shoes and the frock and the small talk.”

“Despite my dear nephew booby trapping my spare room?” she asks. “Sentencing you to eight hours with me?”

“I could go crawl in with him if you’d rather,” she offers. 

“I’m sure that’d go over like gangbusters,” Serena says. “He’s got much stricter rules about going into his room than I have about mine.”

“Lucky me,” Bernie says and then yawns. 

“That’s it, Major,” Serena says. “Lights out.”

She reaches up and extinguishes the lamp. 

oooo

Something wakes up Bernie. A moment of disorientation where she has to sort out where she is and then what woke her. Serena’s house, Serena’s bed - the rain outside. The sound of it has roused her. She feels warm and heavy with sleep. She listens to the sound of the rain and Serena’s even, deep breathing next to her. They’d both dropped off easily but now Bernie shifts a little, stretches and feels her fingers brush against Serena’s hand under the blankets.

She freezes and waits to see if she’d woken Serena but her breathing remains steady. Bernie twitches her fingers and then, so gently, slides them against Serena’s. Even this slight touch gives her a thrill. A lighting bolt of desire shoots through her. 

It’s just that Serena is so _lovely_. Beautiful and whip smart and fearless. 

She’s stroking along Serena’s thumb, from the nail up to the metacarpophalangeal joint. Back down again, and up, and that’s when she feels Serena slide her hand into Bernie’s. 

Her breathing doesn’t sound very steady anymore. 

Bernie, terrified, strokes her thumb along Serena’s inner wrist. The skin there is as soft as velvet. 

She hears Serena’s breath catch and then she exhales in a burst. 

Bernie uses the backs of her fingers to caress Serena’s forearm, the pale skin of the underneath. Drags one finger along the crease of her elbow. Serena lets out a shuddering sigh. Bernie runs her palm back down Serena’s arm and tangles their fingers back up. Serena holds on tightly. 

“It’s raining,” Serena says, finally, just a whisper. 

“Mmmhmm,” Bernie says. 

Serena squeezes her fingers, gives Bernie’s hand a little tug. A foot slides over and Bernie feels warm toes against her own. 

She feels a little dizzy now, even lying down. Serena’s foot moves along her arch. 

Bernie hooks her leg over Serena’s, tightens her hand and with one pull, slides Serena over.

It’s dark and her lips land first on Serena’s cheek bone, then her jaw and then, oh, her lips. Serena makes a surprised noise and then melts into the kiss. Bernie can feel her entire body relax into Bernie’s. She’s so warm to the touch, so soft and sweet. They kiss softly, slowly, dragging lips against lips. Bernie lets go of her hand to rest it on Serena’s hip. Serena pulls back, takes in a lungful of air and then brings their mouths back together. 

They should stop. Bernie should stop this. 

She feels Serena’s tongue against her bottom lip and then, opening her mouth, against her tongue.

But she can’t stop herself. Her fingers dig into Serena’s hip, the other one slipping around her body to hold her closer. Serena is making more noise, little whimpers. She bends her knee, throws it over Bernie’s leg, presses her whole body harder against Bernie. Bernie’s hips jerk, trying to get closer. The hand at Serena’s hip moves up, slipping beneath her nightshirt and encountering more warm, amazing skin. She slides her hand up Serena’s spine to span the space between her shoulder blades. 

Serena arches her back, Bernie can feel their breasts press together. 

She kisses Serena’s jaw, her neck. Serena’s labored breathing overpowers the sound of the rain. Her fingers tangle into Bernie’s hair and pull until Bernie brings their mouths back together. She could spend the rest of the night like this, she’d spend her whole life like this if Serena asked her to. 

Serena catches her bottom lip between her teeth and bites down gently. Bernie rolls and drags Serena under her. Serena’s legs fall apart to make room for Bernie - she feels them wrap around her hips. Bernie yanks at the collar of Serena’s loose shirt and plants a kiss on her collarbone and then across the skin she she has revealed. She’s still kissing when Serena says something that she can’t quite make out. Something to do with the dull roar of blood in her ears, maybe. 

“What?”

“Just take it off,” Serena says, struggling to sit up and pulling at the shirt. 

Bernie hesitates now. Serena reaches down and yanks at the bottom of her shirt, pulls it off and throws it aside. 

“It’s okay,” she says soothingly, sensing Bernie’s hesitation. “I’m okay with this. Are you?”

“If you are,” Bernie says, reaching out to touch the curve of Serena’s waist, her rib cage, the underside of a breast. She brushes her thumb across Serena’s nipple and Serena lets out a gasp that turns into a shaky laugh. Bernie lowers her head and repeats the action with her tongue. Lifts her head and says, “We can stop anytime if you start to feel uncomfortable.” 

“Okay,” she says. 

“No matter what,” Bernie says. 

“I understand,” Serena says. “Right now I’m all for going, though.” 

So Bernie lowers her head again, catches the nipple between her teeth. She works one breast over and then moves to the other, pausing between them to whisper, “You’re so beautiful,” into Serena’s skin. Serena’s hands clench at Bernie’s shirt and tug at it insistently until Bernie sits up and pulls it off. Serena yanks her down for a kiss, groaning at the feeling of them pressed together. They revel in it for a long moment before Bernie holds herself up on her arms. 

“I want…” Serena says, moving her fingers to the loose waist of Bernie’s scrub pants. Her fingers dip beneath the elastic. “Can I?”

Bernie huffs, nods into the darkness. Serena slips her hand in, beneath Bernie’s underwear and cups her. Drags one finger through her and marvels at the wet that she finds. Achingly explores this part of Bernie, dips in and out, circles around, spreads and cradles. It’s enough to drive Bernie mad but not enough to bring her over the edge. Of course, that doesn’t have to be the point of it, so Bernie grits her teeth and lets Serena feel her way through. It’s a bravery, she knows. Serena taking the initiative, going first even though she has the least experience. 

But then Serena surprises her, thrusts two fingers into Bernie hard and deep. Does it again and again, keeps up the pace until Bernie starts a counter thrust, hovering above her. Serena uses her free hand to shove down Bernie’s pants just past her hips, just enough that she’s got a little more room. Bernie’s arms start to tremble with the effort of holding herself up against the waves of pleasure. Serena lifts her head, kisses Bernie. It’s a sloppy kiss. Wet and frantic. Bernie’s arms give way and she drops down to her elbows. It pushes Serena’s fingers deeper inside of her, positions Bernie’s clit right against the heel of Serena’s hand. 

Bernie lets out a strangled moan, starts jerking her hips and gets totally lost. She’ll come like this, certainly. She forces herself to slow down so she doesn't come too soon. Long strokes, a leisurely pace. It's Serena who starts moving faster and so Bernie keeps up, rutting against Serena's hand until she's balanced just at the edge.

Serena turns her head, breathes hot into Bernie’s ear. “Yes,” she murmurs. “Oh, Bernie, please.” 

It’s Serena saying please that tips her over. She clenches hard around the fingers, goes rigid and buries her face in Serena’s warm neck. She feels like her whole body is pulsing. Only when she relaxes does Serena carefully slip her hand away. Bernie can only shudder in her arms. 

Serena rubs her dry hand up and down the curve of Bernie’s spine. 

The rain continues to fall, heavy against the windows and the roof and the lush garden outside.

oooo

Bernie dresses in yesterday’s clothes. Serena’s hair is still damp from the shower when they get in her car. Serena drives her to the hospital, where her own car is still parked. She rides with her bag on her lap, though the only thing in it is her pair of black heels and the hairbrush. The dress is still in Serena’s hamper. There’s plenty of time still for Bernie to drive home and shower and drive back to the hospital. The shower is non-negotiable. She still feels sticky at her thighs and a little sore in the shoulders. 

Serena pulls into her own space out of habit. Bernie is parked three cars away. 

“That was...” Serena says after a long stretch of quiet, “easily the best slumber party I’ve ever had.”

Bernie laughs, relieved. Embarrassed but relieved. 

“Thank you for not freezing my bra,” Bernie says. 

“Something for next time, maybe,” Serena says, her face open and hopeful. 

“Next time,” Bernie says. “That would mean it’s my turn to host?”

“Only if you sort out that bed frame,” Serena chides. 

“And if I don’t?” she teases.

“Well, I _am_ your best friend,” she says with a wink. “I suppose I could be convinced to host again.”

“Duly noted,” Bernie says. 

“Tonight, perhaps, if you aren’t too tired?” Serena says. 

Bernie reaches out and slides her thumb along the inside of Serena’s wrist. “Okay.”

Serena’s fingers twitch at the sensation.

“Okay,” she sighs, her cheeks flushing the most beautiful and soft pink.


	10. so baby drive slow untill we run out of road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> refreshingly-original asked for: _Serena has a sketchbook journal that is filled with sketches of Bernie. She somehow manages to lose it while at work. She’s searches for it frantically but cant find it. The next day the rumours start up about someone having the hots for Ms Wolfe so much that they almost filled a journal with pictures of her. Bernie makes it her mission to find out who’s been drawing her._

Bernie hears about it from Lou. The rumour, that is. Lou doesn’t tell her directly, but she hears her talking to one of the porters. Something about pictures of Ms. Wolfe. Something about a secret. Something about a crush. She’s standing next to the vending machine, contemplating a bag of crisps, she doesn’t mean to earwig but the sound of her own name catches her attention and then she can’t not hear it. 

Mostly it makes her feel anxious. Some poor misguided chap harbouring a tiny flame for her. Could they have picked a less interested, available person? And who could it be? She’s nice to everyone, sort of, but close to no one. Well, no one besides Serena. 

And who is taking secret _pictures_ of her, anyway? That’s stalker behavior. She’s got too much on her plate to have to worry about some spotty teenaged porter snapping candids of her looking haggard and fapping to them in the storage cupboard. 

Okay, well. She’s just going to have to bring it up with Serena. If anything, it could be a real security issue and if it’s the gossip topic du jour, she should know about it. 

She snags a pump of hand gel from the foot of a bed and cuts across the ward toward their office. She finds Serena inside, rummaging through her desk drawer. Bernie plants herself in the open doorway and watches her. Serena, always organized, is now pulling files out of her drawer and dumping them onto the desktop where they slide out of their tidy piles and into disarray.

“What are you doing?” Bernie asks, finally. 

Serena stands up, caught. Glances at her sideways. 

“Misplaced my glasses,” she mutters and starts to reverse the mess, putting things back into open drawer.

Bernie chuckles. “You don’t wear any glasses.” 

“Not in front of you,” Serena says haughtily.

Bernie isn’t sure why she bothers to lie because she’s simply no good at it, but Serena always keeps trying.

“Fine,” Bernie says. “Don’t tell me.” 

“Did you need something?” Serena asks, exasperated.

“No, never mind,” Bernie says and leaves her to her suspicious, lying ways.

oooo

Bernie corners Raf in Pulses when they’ve both nipped down during the mid-afternoon for reinforcement. 

“Tell me what you know,” she says in a stern voice. “Everything. Out with it.”

He doesn’t insult her intelligence by pretending that he doesn’t know what she’s talking about. In fact, he looks supremely guilty as he reaches into the wide pocket of his scrub top and pulls out a folded up piece of paper. She snatches it and unfolds it quickly.

The barista calls out her order and Raf grabs it, elbows her lightly toward a table. 

They sit.

She inspects paper with some confusion.

“It’s a drawing,” she says, finally.

“Of you,” he says. 

It’s lovely work. Whoever made it has some talent. It’s not crude or hurtful or meant to be rude, no, it’s a study. Bernie in profile. Looking down, her fringe obscuring her eyes. She wants to say that maybe it isn’t her, but it is. No denying it. 

“Someone found them in the hallway, like they’d… been dropped.” Raf shrugs. 

“Them?” Bernie asks. “There are more?”

“Uh,” Raf says uncomfortably. “There were three. One of them was… more inappropriate.” 

Bernie looked up at him, somewhat aghast. 

“Not crude,” he says. “Just… um…”

“Raf!”

“Naked. Sort of,” he says with a wince. “I’ve confiscated them but I’m afraid it’s too late for the rumour mill to be stopped.”

“Yes, I overheard that someone has a bit of a crush on crusty old Ms. Wolfe,” she murmurs, folding the drawing back up and sticking into her own pocket. “I’d like the others, please.”

“Bernie, there’s no need. I’m on it,” he says.

“I want to see them,” she says. He finally nods and they stand, heading for the lift. “Have you spoken to Serena about it?”

“No,” Raf says. “I was going to bring it up with her but she seemed a bit off today, so I just haven’t had the chance.”

“She has seemed off,” Bernie says. “She lied to me, earlier, when I asked her about it.” 

Raf takes her into the locker room and unlocks his locker. Inside are two more folded up squares. He hands them over.

“Do you think we should just skip Serena and go straight to Hanssen?” he asks.

The next drawing is just a portrait, not even a complete one. Half of the face gives way to sketchy lines without shading. She unfolds the third, looks at it, and folds it right back up again.

“Well,” she says, trying not to be embarrassed but blushing all the same. “They’ve taken some kind liberties.”

Raf manages a courtesy laugh. 

“No need for Hanssen,” she says. “Thank you for your help, but just leave it with me, okay?”

“Whatever you say, boss,” he agrees.

oooo

Everyone becomes a suspect as her eyes sweep across the ward. She even starts to watch the patients until Raf tells her they were found in an administrative hallway, a place unlikely for patients to be unless they were on a gurney. So back to staff then. She watches everyone who picks up a pencil instead of a pen and then makes a mental note of them.

She barely sees Serena all day. She’s in some meeting upstairs and it’s well after lunch before they run into each other again. She still seems a bit off.

“What is the matter, honestly, Serena, tell me,” she says as they stand in the hallway near the vending machines.

“Nothing, it’s stupid,” Serena says. “I just was unprepared for that meeting, that’s all.”

“Not like you,” she points out.

“It’s okay, I just have to… I was just distracted, that’s all,” Serena says. She rolls her eyes at herself. “I’m here now and in time for rounds, a small miracle.”

“I can cover your rounds,” Bernie says. 

“No,” Serena reassures her with a hand on her arm. “I don’t mind.” 

Rounds turn into Serena going into theatre and Bernie ends up covering the ward anyway. A group of F1s walk by her, look at her and then lean into whisper. One of them snorts back a laugh. 

She tries not to feel humiliated, and yet…

Raf finds her just before the handover and says, “I’ve got to show you something.” 

“Okay,” she says. “Give me five minutes and then I’ll meet you in the office.” 

She finishes up with her patients, signs off the rest of the paperwork she has and then goes into the office. 

Raf is there, holding something.

“What’s that?” she asks.

“The source,” he says. “Morven confiscated it from her group of F1s.”

“Yeah, I saw them laughing about me,” Bernie says. 

It’s a notebook. 

“I’ve only flipped through it, but I think… maybe we should just turn it into HR and let them handle things?”

“You can’t tell who the owner is?” Bernie asks. 

“I haven’t really spent enough time to… I don’t know, maybe?” he says. 

She extends her hand and he shakes his head but she remains firm. “If I can’t figure it out myself, I’ll turn it over to HR.” 

“I just think we should be careful,” Raf says. “Especially after James Fielding. I don’t want to brush off another one of your obsessive fans!”

She rolls her eyes and then flips through the book only briefly. Most of the pictures are like the first two she’d seen, only one other is somewhat risque. Bernie’s bare shoulder, a drapey sheet. There’s not that many, all in all, and there are other sketches that have nothing to do with her. Doodles. She carries the notebook over to her bag and shoves it in.

“Let’s go to Albie’s. On me.”

“Really?” he says. “What about Serena? She’ll be out of theater soon, I imagine.”

“We’ll leave her a note and she can join us if she wants to,” Bernie says, leaning over to scribble out a message to her on a post-it. She slaps it to Serena’s monitor. 

oooo

Serena doesn’t show up to Albie’s. Bernie stays longer than she really wants to in hopes that Serena does appear, stays after Raf leaves, but she doesn’t and Bernie finds herself yawning so she pays her tab and walks back to her car. Decides that the extra glass of wine she’d had while waiting means that she should probably hoof it home. She doesn’t live that far, so she walks. The ground is wet from an earlier rain, but the sky is clear now and she rather enjoys it. It’s only a fifteen minute walk. 

When she gets to her building, she climbs the stairs to her floor and rounds the corner in the corridor only to find Serena Campbell leaning against the wall next to the door of her flat.

“Hello,” Bernie says. 

“Hi,” Serena says.

“I thought I might see you at Albie’s,” Bernie says, pulling her phone out of her pocket along with her keys. She glances at the screen but Serena hadn’t texted ahead. 

“Yeah, I got your note,” she says. “I just…”

“All right,” Bernie says. “It’s okay. Come on in.” 

She unlocks the door, flips on the lights. Serena’s been here before, a handful of times. Mostly they go to Serena’s because it’s nicer, but Bernie is closer to the hospital. They’ve sobered up here before, or Serena’s come home with her to get something before they go out again. 

“I’m going to make us some tea,” Bernie says. Serena sits down, keeping her coat on because it’s chilly. Bernie turns up the heat before she goes to the kitchen to put the kettle on. She has an electric one, now, and fills it up before plugging it in and flipping the switch on. 

Bernie watches her over the counter that separates the kitchen from the living space.

“Are you ready to tell me what’s been bothering you all day?” Bernie asks. “Not like you to be so scattered, you know.”

“I am scattered,” Serena says, dropping her face into her hands. She rubs at her skin and then looks up. “I’ve just misplaced something, that’s all. Can’t find it.”

Bernie turns to pull mugs down, an odd feeling in her chest. She sorts through the tea she has on hand and chooses for Serena. She knows well enough what she likes by now. How she takes the tea. How much milk splashed in, a little bit of sugar just to give it a touch of sweet. 

The kettle pops and she makes the tea. 

Once the mug is warm in Serena’s hands and they’re seated, Bernie asks quite calmly, “What is it that you’ve lost?”

“Nothing,” Serena says. “Nothing important.” 

Bernie has a think about it, sips her tea, and reorganizes her plan for attack.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Bernie says. “Because there’s a new, nasty rumor going around the hospital and Raf and I wanted your opinion on it.”

“Rumor about who?” Serena asks, going a little ashen. 

“About me,” Bernie says, keeping her tone light. She leans in and stage whispers, “It appears someone might have a little fixation with me.” 

Serena doesn’t say anything, just blinks. 

Bernie reaches in and pulls out the folded piece of paper that she’d transferred from her scrub top to the pocket of her tight jeans. Unfolds it slowly and hands it to Serena.

Serena takes it and closes her eyes.

Bernie can see that Serena is mortified and that’s not what she’s after. She’s trying to be gentle and not to judge. 

Because were it anyone else, Bernie would feel quite violated. But now, she feels… hope.

She reaches over for her bag, pulls out the notebook.

“I think I have what you lost, Serena,” she says, pressing it into her lap. 

“I…” Serena tries, but words fail her. Serena, usually so strong, so lively, looks stricken. Her eyes fill with tears. 

“They’re very good,” Bernie says. 

Serena lets out a laugh that sounds more like a strangled sob. 

“I didn’t know you could draw,” Bernie offers, reaching to take the drawing back, but Serena tightens her hand, wrinkling it slightly in the process. 

She takes a few moments to compose herself and then looks, her eyes still wet. “I have a very bad habit of doodling whatever is on my mind,” she says.

“I see,” Bernie says. 

“When you… when we… in the theatre,” she says uneasily. “And then you said we should just leave it in the theatre.”

“I thought… that’s what would be best for you,” Bernie says. “The most comfortable.”

“But,” Serena says. “All I can think about is… and then I just… but then I lost…” She huffs. “This is my fault.” 

“You think about me?” Bernie asks. “About what we did?”

Serena nods, can’t quite look at her as she says, “All the time.” 

Bernie makes an appropriate sounding ‘hmm’ noise and says, “I wish, perhaps, that you had not dropped your notebook on the ward for the F1s to find but I will admit to being wrong about keeping us confined to theatre.”

Serena manages to look up through her dark, damp lashes at this. 

“Oh for heaven’s… the F1s?” 

Bernie gives her what she hopes is a warm smile. Smiling is hard for her. She doesn’t have the mouth for it. At best it looks just like she’s grimacing slightly less, unless she shows teeth which she prefers not to. 

And then, “You think about it too?”

“Yes,” Bernie says. This time, when she reaches to take away the crumpled drawing and the notebook, Serena allows it. Bernie sets these things on the coffee table between their mugs of tea. 

“Half agony, half hope,” Serena whispers. 

Bernie takes her hand.

oooo

Later, much later, they are in Bernie’s bed. Bernie has got Serena talking now and she’s telling Bernie about how she’d wanted to go to art school, how her father hadn’t let her. Something about not wasting a good brain on drawing pictures. And then her father had died and her mother had offered to let her use her inheritance to go to art school but she’d gone off to Harvard instead. 

“Far away had seemed important, at the time,” Serena says into the bare skin of Bernie’s shoulder before leaving a perfect little kiss there. 

And then she’s telling a story about California, how she’d gone for a conference because it had been December and she wasn’t coming home for holiday and that one would do anything to get out of the Cambridge snow even if it meant going to a boring conference several thousand kilometers away. 

“They’d warned us about the poor weather and all that meant was that it had been raining,” Serena says, sounding more and more herself now. “I saw flowers blooming! In December! Can you imagine?”

Bernie leans in and kisses her right on the lips. Murmurs right against them, “Flowers?”

“Flowers,” Serena confirms before melting into the kiss.

At nearly four am, Serena is fast asleep when Bernie digs her phone out of her bag in the living room and texts Raf that everything is fine and they’ve no need to involve Hanssen or HR. 

In the morning, he texts back asking if he’d told Serena about it.

She doesn’t lie, just tells him that Serena had, somehow, already known. Leaves it at that.


	11. i'll run my fingers through your hair and watch the lights go wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said: _Thank you so so much for your Berena fic. Thanks to you making me laugh and smile I survived a week in hetero hell without my self-esteem plummeting. Can I suggest: Serena helps Bernie dye her hair pre-Christmas party, because nothing says Gal Pals like running your fingers gently over your best friend's scalp and admiring the muscles in her neck._

“I hate to say it, but it’s kind of a big deal,” Morven tells her, leaning across the desk. Bernie is at the computer, trying to look up test results but the wifi has been spotty all day. She’s trying the desktop computer in hopes that the hardwired internet will run better but all she has is a screen with a spinning wheel. 

“My patient is going to die before these test results ever load,” she mutters. 

“We rent out the bar and there’s karaoke and everyone wears Christmas jumpers!” Morven carries on, oblivious. 

“Sounds lovely,” Bernie says. 

“No scrubs allowed,” Morven says, tapping her finger against the top of the monitor.

Bernie glances at the finger and says, “D’you think if I walk up to the lab and stick my head through the window they’ll just tell me the results with their words?”

“People always look so nice,” Morven says. “Serena specifically tends to really put in some effort.”

Bernie sighs, looks up at her and says, “I understand what you’re trying to do, Dr. Digby. I hear you loud and clear.”

Moven grins. Leans in conspiratorially and says, “It’s just that Serena has always gone to these things alone and she really loves Christmas. Wouldn’t it be nice if she has a magical time?”

Bernie wishes Morven would go away, that would be the real Christmas miracle. 

“Don’t you have someone to go heal?” Bernie asks. “An F1 that needs teaching?” 

“Technically I’m still on my break for another-” She looks at her watch. “Forty-five seconds.”

“I feel like before I went to Ukraine everyone was slightly afraid of me and now it’s not the case,” she says with a sigh. “What happened?”

“We all saw you snog Serena,” Morven says. “It was too cute to be scary.”

Bernie lifts the mouse and slams it down hard on the desk and Morven flinches, looks surprised. Well, at least she’s still got that. The element of surprise. 

“Please go check on Mr. Jacobi for me, Dr. Digby, and tell him we’ve just about got his results in.” 

“Sure,” she says, and hurries away. 

It’s only Tuesday and the Christmas party isn’t until Friday evening. This is going to be a long week. She can tell already. 

She plans to go home but Serena asks her over last minute. She’s gone home ahead of Bernie, their shifts have been slightly staggered all week to accommodate people out ill and on holiday. She knows exactly when Bernie should be leaving because that’s when she texts. 

_Come over? We have a roast…_

Bernie does like a roast. 

Bernie calls her from the car park, tucks her phone between her ear and her shoulder while she unlocks her car. 

“So you’ll come?” Serena asks in lieu of a greeting. 

“I was going to go home,” Bernie says. “Do some laundry. Run some errands.” 

“So?” Serena says. “Bring your dirty clothes here. I have a washer and dryer.”

“And my errands?” Bernie asks with a chuckle. 

“Come eat dinner and then we’ll go together,” Serena says. 

“Can’t stand one night apart from me can you, Campbell,” Bernie says. 

“After last night?” Serena says suggestively. “I think not.”

Last night _had_ been good. Spectacular, even. Bernie squirms in the driver’s seat. 

“You really want me to bring my laundry?” Bernie asks. 

“I want you, however I get it,” Serena replies. 

Bernie smiles, looks at her own happy reflection in the rear view mirror and says, “Okay.”

oooo

Serena does not do Bernie’s laundry for her, merely directs her to the machine and keeps an eye on her as she dumps the clothes in. She and Jason have already eaten - he doesn’t like to wait or eat alone - but Serena sits with Bernie as she eats her warmed up plate and then bundles up to go out again. 

It’s not until they’re in the car that Serena even bothers to ask where they’re going.

“Boots,” Bernie says. “A little birdy told me this Christmas thing is a big to do.”

"Oh it’s just… it’s not _really_ , we just don’t always manage to get together so we try to make it special, but half the time there’s some emergency and we all get… called away,” Serena shakes her head.

“Maybe this year will be different,” Bernie says, starting the car and pulling out into the road. 

“You’ll be there,” Serena says, giving Bernie that smitten smile that melts her.

“If you get called away I can go with you,” Bernie says. “So we stay together.”

Serena smiles and then rolls her eyes. “We are sappy.”

“Yeah, disgusting,” Bernie agrees. 

At the pharmacy, Serena says, “What in here is going to save the Christmas party?”

Bernie says, “Look at me, what do you see?”

Serena raises an eyebrow, looks her up and down. Bites the inside of her cheek.

“No,” Bernie says, holding up a finger. “That’s not… I meant, my roots, Serena, they’re out of control. I haven’t got them done since I got back.” 

“And to think all this time I thought you were a natural blonde,” Serena says.

“No you… I mean, I was, once,” Bernie says. “Grew out of it. It lightens up in the sun! It’s December!”

“Relax,” Serena says, leading them confidently to the aisle with rows and rows of boxes. “I’m teasing you.” She faces the wall of products and says, “Right. Which one is you?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Bernie says. “I just usually grab whatever is on sale.”

Serena looks at her, scandalized. “How do you do so little and do it half assed and still look so stunning all the time?”

“Genetics,” Bernie says, bending over slightly to peer at the boxes. 

“You know, I have a girl who does mine and does a good job, too. I could make you an appointment,” Serena says. 

“It’s just bleach,” Bernie says, picking up a bottle and inspecting the color chart on the back. “Hard to cock it up, really.” She nods at the box. “This’ll do.” 

She buys Serena a chocolate bar along with the box if only to make her stop looking so exasperated. 

oooo

Back at Serena’s. Bernie doesn’t plan on doing her hair right then. It’s a stinky project that leaves her scalp burning and her eyes stinging. But Serena checks in with Jason, tells him “We’re going upstairs to dye Bernie’s hair.” 

“Why?” Jason asks. 

“Because it grows out a different color,” Bernie says reasonably. “But I like it to be this color.” She holds up the ends of her hair. 

“What color does it grow out?” Jason asks, peering up at the crown of her head.

“Bit browner, bit greyer,” she says. 

“We’ll be in my ensuite if you need us,” Serena says. 

Serena finds her an old ragged t-shirt for Bernie to wear and a dingy towel to drape around her shoulders. 

Bernie puts the shirt off, takes her dark pants off and drapes them over the end of Serena’s bed. She’s had too many things ruined by careless drips. It’s not until Serena is dragging the stool from her vanity into the ensuite that Bernie says, “You don’t have to help, I can do it on my own.”

“Obviously,” Serena says. “But it’s much easier with help.”

Bernie, not particularly adept at asking for help, now knows better than to turn it down when Serena offers. 

“If you don’t mind,” she says. 

She does handle the mixing of the agents herself, slipping on one of the gloves to shake the bottle up and then slipping it off again so Serena can put it on. Serena digs through a drawer and comes out with a brush and a comb. 

“Have you ever seen one of these before?” Serena asks, holding the brush up. 

“Rude,” Bernie says. 

Serena brushes out her hair. It doesn’t take long. Then she leans down and kisses the top of her head. 

“You ready?” Serena asks. 

“Mmm,” Bernie says. “Wait.” She gets up and cracks the small window, letting a stream of frigid air in. Still, they’ll need the ventilation. 

Seated once more, Serena begins. 

The smell is unpleasant and it doesn’t take long for the stuff to start to burn on her scalp but it’s all right because she gets to watch Serena work, reflected in the big mirror. She approaches the job at hand as studiously as she does anything - paperwork or gift wrapping or surgery. She uses the comb to section off Bernie’s hair and methodically get every strand. 

“You have a few greys but not a lot,” Serena says. 

“Yes, not too bad yet,” Bernie agrees. 

“What about your mum and dad?” Serena asks. “When did they go grey?”

“My dad had dark hair, so he was grey long before he hit my age,” Bernie says. “My mum… she died in her thirties, so I really couldn’t say.” 

Serena’s hands hesitate for a moment, then carry on with their task.

“I didn’t know that,” Serena says. “I’m sorry.” 

“My aunt, her sister, she has the most beautiful pure white hair,” Bernie says. “One can hope for that but…” 

“Right,” Serena agrees. “My grey is awful.”

“I love your hair,” Bernie says. “It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

Serena smiles a little smile. “Really?”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“Edward absolutely hated it when I cut it,” Serena says. “Like I’d cut off my sex appeal entirely as far as he was concerned.” 

“But you have the most… exquisite neck,” Bernie says. 

“Yes and how he would have loved to throttle it,” she says. “Lean forward.”

Bernie does and Serena spends some quiet moments getting the hair at the top of her neck while Bernie closes her eyes against the sting. 

Serena lets her sit back up after a bit and says, “I think that’s it. How long do you keep it on for?”

“Another twenty minutes,” Bernie says. “I think… I might go stand in the garden for a spell and air out.”

“And have a fag?” Serena says knowingly. 

Bernie tilts her head. “If it strikes me.”

“You’ll have to brush your teeth before I’ll kiss you,” Serena warns. 

“I know the rules,” Bernie says. “Kiss me now, though, before I wreck it.”

Serena does, leans in and touches their lips lightly. Then pulls back and says, “You stink. Don’t forget to put on trousers.” 

Bernie looks down. “Right.”

The only clean things she’s left here are a pair of running pants that stop at the calf, but she puts them on and steps into Serena's house slippers, comically too small, and shuffles down the stairs. She’s digging through her bag for her cigarettes and her lighter when Jason pauses what he’s watching and says, “You look a fright, Bernie.”

“Often the things women do to look beautiful don’t look beautiful in the process,” Bernie says. 

Bernie can tell that Jason finds that to be an unsatisfying explanation, but she excuses herself and goes out to stand in the garden and freeze. She does feel better with the fresh air but she’d stain any coat she tried to put on and by the time she finishes her cigarette, she’s chilled to the bone and comes into the house with her teeth chattering.

Serena is already in the kitchen, hands her a steaming cup of tea.

“You’re an angel,” Bernie says, wrapping her hands around it. They’re so cold that the cup burns at her skin but she doesn’t care. 

“I wish you’d give it up again,” Serena says seriously. 

“I know it’s terrible for me,” Bernie says.

“Well yes, but we could be kissing right now if you weren’t a smoker,” Serena says. “And now we can’t.”

Bernie leans her hip against the counter. “We can think about it though, can’t we?”

Serena smirks, blushes, smolders at her. 

Beats Bernie at her own game. She looks away first and says, “I should go wash this out.”

“Mmm,” Serena says. 

oooo

Bernie rinses the chemicals away, soaps up with Serena’s body wash while the conditioner sets to try to mask any lingering smell. The body wash is a pale pink, smells like spring. Bernie doesn’t mind it, actually, but will never stop buying bars of plain white soap for herself. 

She leans out of the shower dripping and snags her toothbrush and the tube of paste and brushes her teeth and tongue, spitting the suds down the drain. 

Clean and as nice smelling as she’s able, she wraps her hair up in the old towel and wraps her body up in a plusher one. She spends enough time here that she has her own towel on the rod, her toothbrush resides next to Serena’s in the little holder. It’s something that would have sent her scurrying at one point but now just feels familiar, comforting, fine.

Serena is already in bed when she comes into the bedroom. Serena’s tucked in but her shoulders are bare. A good sign for Bernie. 

“How’s it look?” Serena asks. 

“Dunno yet,” Bernie says. She sits on the edge of the bed and pulls the towel off her head. Serena sits up to take a look, the sheet falling away from her torso. She inspects Bernie’s hair, Bernie runs a finger along the underside of Serena’s breast. The skin is soft and incredibly warm. 

“Looks… looks good,” Serena manages before leaning in to kiss her. Bernie opens her mouth, swipes her tongue and is gratified to feel Serena smile into the kiss. “You brushed.”

“I did,” Bernie says before shucking her towel at the end of the bed and crawling over Serena. 

“Think we can top last night?” Serena asks, throwing her leg around Bernie and pulling her down. Bernie’s skin is cool against Serena’s, so she reaches down and pulls the duvet up over them.

“We should try,” Bernie says. “I’ll go first.”

oooo

Just as Serena predicts, the holiday party goes on without them. Bernie doesn’t mind. She’s not one for big social gatherings, finger foods, loud music. Marcus used to say that her sensory overload issues were a byproduct of a dangerous career but Bernie has always been this way. Hiding under desks during her parent’s parties as a child, sleeping with white noise during her uni days to drown out parties. She prefers silence. 

But this isn’t bad either, the four of them playing poker until Artie starts to droop. Morven gathers the cards up, everyone donates their winnings to the ward and chocolate coins are passed around before Serena and Bernie bundle up to leave for the night. Bernie is once again going to spend the night at Serena’s. It wasn’t discussed, really, but any time they don’t have to be up early, they stick together.

Morven rides down with them in the elevator, says, “Oh yeah, by the way, Ms. Wolfe, nice hair.”

Bernie tucks her chin, says, “Thanks, Serena did it for me.”

“Morven,” Serena says. “Cameron’s coming over tomorrow for Christmas Eve brunch.”

Bernie glances at her, eyes narrowing at Serena.

“You’re more than welcome to join us,” Serena says. 

Bernie doesn’t doubt her genuine affection for the girl because that’s something she shares and they should have invited her, probably, before now but Bernie also knows that this has as much to do with their ongoing bet as with any maternal affections. 

“R-really?” Morven asks. 

“Yes, of course,” Serena says. “You’re practically family.” 

“Well…” Morven says. “All right, then. What can I bring?”

“Nothing,” Bernie says.

“Wine,” says Serena at the same time. 

Morven laughs. “Got it.”

“Ten,” Serena says. “Tenish.”

“That was very sweet of you, Serena,” Bernie says when they part ways with Morven. “And cunning.”

“I am a Slytherin,” Serena says. “Or so Jason has told me.”

“What am I?” Bernie asks with a grin.

“Oh, that is a subject of much debate,” she says. “I say Ravenclaw, but he is certain it’s Gryffindor. He says you’re braver than you are smart because smart people have a sense of self-preservation and don’t go into the army.”

She chuckles. “I’ve never felt particularly brave.”

“It’s not how you _feel_ , it’s what you _do_ ,” Serena says. “And I’ve seen you do ten brave things before breakfast some days.” 

“There’s a quiz you can take, I think?” Bernie says. “Maybe tomorrow Jason can take it for me and we’ll see once and for all who is right.”

“What do I get if I’m right?” Serena asks. 

Bernie opens the car door for her and says, “Rewarded.”

“And if I lose?” she asks, getting into the car.

Bernie leans in and says, “Punished.” She waggles her eyebrows before she closes the door. 

oooo

Jason can’t wait for Christmas Eve so they do the quiz that night, standing behind his desk chair, hip to hip.

Bernie answers as truthfully as she can and Serena only scoffs at a few of her answers, piping down when Jason twists in his chair to give her a stern look. 

When he clicks the button to calculate the answer, Bernie finds she’s holding her breath even though it’s such a silly thing.

The lion pops up and Jason nods. “I was right. Gryffindor.”

Serena reaches up and tousles her golden mane. “My brave little lion.”

Bernie does not feel very brave, but she leans in to kiss her anyway, right in front of Jason. 

And later in bed, Serena reminds her that she still needs to be punished for her loss.

A task Bernie will gladly carry out on this cold, winter’s night.


	12. you are the best thing that's ever been mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked for: _Idk if you're still taking prompts but: Guardian Angel AU. Bernie, best angel at saving ppl from burning buildings & cats from trees is assigned Serena in the hopes of making her better at Feelings. B buys her a dog, sets her up with ppl but then punches them for not being Good Enough & falls in love herself, so she keeps having to create fake peril to extend her mission. Supervisory Angel Hanssen shows up to see wtf is taking so long. He ships it hard, and helps. Junior angel Cam lols. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, I don't know about this one. It is what it is, I guess!! Hope it's sort of close to what you wanted?!?!

There’s pretty much only two rules to this gig. Don’t tell them what you really are and don’t fall in love with them. The first one is easy because even if you do tell them, they can’t retain the information. It fades from their minds leaving only a nagging suspicion that something is not quite right. That’s the real reason you never tell them - hard to get them to trust you when they’re always suspicious about something. 

The second rule has never been much of a chore for Bernie. It is for some, she knows. Humans always find them beautiful and it can be tempting to give into that part of it. The sex. So human! So messy and complicated and different every time. Humans fall in love with their guardians all the time. That’s to be expected, especially if you start sleeping with them. But you don’t ever, ever fall in love back. 

Bernie has never once fallen in love with a human. There was a time that the very idea would have been completely laughable.

Then she gets assigned to Serena Campbell.

oooo

Bernie marches into the office with an unlit fag hanging out of her mouth holding up the chit with Serena’s name on it.

“This is rubbish,” she says.

“On the contrary,” her supervisor says, “Every human life is a careful creation of God and is therefore sacred and-”

“Important,” Bernie finishes. “Yeah, I understand that, but this is… not my style.” She looks down at the chit, at the swirling name - the loopy S and the extravagant C all in indigo ink. “She’s not even in mortal peril!”

Her supervisor glances up only enough to look at the slip of paper in her hand. 

“Lavender,” he acknowledges, like it’s a surprise to him as well. Like he had no hand in sending it her way. “Peril comes in all different forms, you know that. One can be in danger without a house falling down around them.”

“Lavender is for pageant queens,” Bernie says. “Put me back on red.”

“No,” her supervisor says. He gives her a brief smile to soften the blow but it’s an unsettling expression on him and she’s relieved when it’s gone.

“I’m not doing this, Henrik,” she says, trying to crumple up the chit and hurling it to the ground. It, of course, will not hurl. Floats gently down, crisp and clean. 

“I find it interesting that you think I don’t take assignments just as you do,” he says, finally folding his hands across his desk and giving her his full attention. “I am but a cog in this massive machine. I am given assignments. I have a supervisor, just like you.”

“So talk to them,” Bernie says.

“No,” he says. “You are off red. No one doubts your ability to handle red cases. But everyone, and this includes me, has deep doubts about your ability to tackle something as intricate as a lavender. It is time, as they say, to stretch your wings, Ms. Wolfe.” 

“Unbelievable,” she mutters. She bends over and picks the chit up, jams it into her pocket.

“Look at the bright side,” he says, turning back to his paperwork. “She’s a surgeon. Perhaps you can satiate your lust for disaster by treating the broken bodies.”

Bernie tilts her head in thought. “Humans do bleed a lot,” she says. 

“Good,” he says. She turns to leave and he clears his throat. “Lavenders - that is to say, emotional peril are among the most complex cases we handle. Guard her carefully, Ms. Wolfe. Guard her well.” 

“Keep her alive, check,” Bernie says, and lets the office door slam behind her. 

oooo

Bernie watches her for a while. Several days. Watches her at work, her hands inside the open cavities of other humans. Rearranging what she finds in there. Cutting things open only to stitch them up again. Bernie is nearly impressed with the pace the woman keeps and the level head she does it with. It’s outside the hospital where it becomes more clear. 

Sitting alone in her big house, drinking her way through a bottle of wine. Staring at herself in the mirror with dull eyes as she removes her makeup and cleans her teeth. Sleeping on one side of a large bed. Eating breakfast standing over the sink. 

Driving back to work. Leaving again.

Bernie is up on the hospital roof, considering her options when the chit starts to glow warm in her pocket. A nudge from her supervisor. Background research can be helpful, but Hanssen doesn’t let them wallow. 

“All right, all right,” she says into the sky. “I’m going.” 

She sighs, slips the chit under her shirt, lets the hot slip burn through her skin, sink all the way down inside of her, wiggle its way into her heart. It ties her to Serena Campbell, activates the case. Bernie is now, officially, her guardian. It’s a different experience every single time, a different feeling. Reds tend to run hot, because they’re such short cases. Not a lot of time to set things in motion with a red. Either you save the human or you escort them away. Sometimes you go in knowing they can’t be saved, sometimes your only job is to make the passing as easy as possible.

But this chit… this melts into her slowly, infusing her with a strange sort of pleasure. Warming her up, filling her with light. 

Lavender, she thinks, slightly fascinated. How odd. How strange. How…

She loses consciousness, falling from the edge of the roof.

Wakes up in the back of a hummer.

“Major Wolfe? Stay with us, ma’am. We’ll be at Holby Hospital in five minutes.”

oooo

It would be easier, maybe, to not have to deal with the complex back stories but God has a sense of humor and so when they go human, they get the full human experience. The memories of childhood, the lives tangled up with others, the ability to feel pain. 

Now that Bernie is a human, she feels every bump as she’s wheeled out of the back of the huge vehicle and into the hospital. It’s agony. No wonder humans are, overall, a whiny lot. 

She’s also got a husband, apparently. 

A twisted sense of humor, God has. 

These injuries get her into the hospital, but nowhere near Serena Campbell. And she’s got to get well before she can even think about getting out of her bed, let alone her ward. 

Stupid lavender chit. 

She’d bloody well be done by now if this were a red case. Even greens were preferable to this. Hell, she’d take a yellow. It’s not easy when it’s children but they’re certainly easier to escort to heaven because they’re much more trusting and willing to be carried. If she ever gets out of this bloody lavender situation, she’s going to volunteer for a millenia of yellow duty. Stillborn babies and wrapping her body around little girls and boys in war zones to protect them from the blast and even the ones with cancer, she’ll take it all over this. 

She’s not sure, actually, how she’s even supposed to get close to Serena until Jac Naylor hands her a locum application. 

She never has to get a job on a red case. 

Still, she finds Serena on her first day, and it’s tempting to just… try to sort it out in the very first conversation. _Hey, lady, yeah you with the pretty face! Why are you so sad? Have you tried being not that? Ah, good, cheers. Off I go, then._

That won’t work, she knows it won’t. It’ll only make it harder. Instead, she asks about her car. 

But after that, a funny sort of thing happens. Serena keeps finding her. 

Humans are so overwhelming. They’re loud and they're selfish and here, at this hospital, they’re always trying to die. It’s exhausting and Bernie needs a lot of breaks. Plus she’s got the whole other home life to deal with. Between the husband and the noise at work, the chaos of this whole damn planet is wringing her out.

How does anyone manage assignments like these?

Serena finds her sitting on a bench nursing a cup of coffee. She’s got one too. Their second of the day, actually. 

Serena’s got a warm face, open and lovely. Sometimes Bernie sees people out and about in the world that are so beautiful that she thinks it’s just as likely that she’s looking at a guardian inhabiting a human form. Features so perfect that they can’t be real. The body Bernie is in right now is sort of an odd one - overall a beautiful host but made up of odd elements. A long neck, such dark eyes. Her nose is large but the cheekbones seem to compensate. Interesting to look at, certainly appealing but strangely so. 

Serena is definitely a human, not someone she’d see and wonder about, but Bernie finds her to be very beautiful. It’s one of the few things she doesn’t mind when she’s on assignment. Attraction. Humans feel it so viscerally. She likes it. The little tug behind her navel, way the blood inside her starts to move faster. It happens to her when Serena sits down and starts talking about her life. Her ex-husband, her daughter who never calls. 

Bernie talks too. Says, “I have to make a go of it.” 

She realizes as she’s talking that it’s true. Not the husband, the family, all of that, but this situation she’s in.

Serena herself. 

Here is a woman who seems fine, but is not and it’s Bernie’s job to help her. She has to help her. 

“Silly meeting up like this,” Serena says. “Next time you need a caffeine shot and a chat you should just call me.”

It’s something to think about, anyway, Bernie decides as she flees back to Keller. 

It’s obvious that Serena is desperately lonely. The kind of loneliness that if left untreated will ultimately lead to great peril, otherwise Bernie wouldn’t be here. But can the solution really be so easy as becoming her friend? And what happens when Bernie leaves again?

oooo

But they are friends, now. It happens so organically. Bernie starts seeing her first thing in the morning. It takes her a few days to realize that Serena doesn’t just happen to be passing by fortuitously, rather she’s been waiting for Bernie to arrive and then pretending that she’s merely happening by. All for five minutes of walking into a building and then riding in a lift to separate floors.

Serena starts inviting her out for drinks after their shifts, too. 

Ah, alcohol. Such an odd elixir. Even as a human, it has no effect on her. Tragic really, as they all seem to enjoy poisoning themselves so much. There’d be a lot less guardians around if the stuff was just done away with. How many people has Bernie pulled out of a car thanks to drunk driving? More than she can remember. 

Serena’s relationship with wine is an interesting one. She’s right on the edge - she doesn’t let it creep over into her professional life, but she spends a fair amount of time at home working her way through bottles of the stuff. At least when Bernie goes out with her, she seems to self moderate a lot better. So that’s what they start doing. Riding the lift together in the morning and splitting a bottle of red wine together in the evenings until they really are friends. 

And when Serena touches her - a hand on her arm or a brushed shoulder while they’re walking - it feels so warm to Bernie. The exact kind of warmth she felt as the chit had sunk into her. A warmth she thought had to do with the case being lavender but now she understands is tied to Serena herself. The only thing Bernie has ever felt that has surpassed this warm feeling is the all encompassing feeling of God’s eternal love.

But this must be a kind of love, too. 

Serena is obviously the most important part of the assignment she’s on, and there are things that are holding her back. The husband, for one. She wonders about him for awhile. She’s never been one to get super involved in her cases while human, but that’s not to say that she’s never slept with anyone while working on earth. It’s always been women, though. 

So she decides to leave him. More time to focus on work that way. 

And when Bernie gets the opportunity to switch to Serena’s ward, she takes that, too. 

oooo

There’s another angel on AAU. Sometimes it’s difficult to tell right away. They’re _meant_ to blend in, that’s why they actually become basically human instead of just looking like one. It’s been that way since the son of God had come down and made it all look so easy. 

They don’t resurrect anymore because it gains too much attention. If you die, you’re off the case. A new guardian sent in to take over. 

But for all intents and purposes, Bernie is a human. Still, it takes about fourteen seconds for her to realize that Raf is one of them.

“Fletch? And his four kids?” Bernie asks. 

Raf nods, shrugs as if it’s nothing. “He’s a mate.” 

Bernie says, “I was on reds for nearly… well… lavenders are...” 

Raf looks her over, drags her into a supply cupboard. “You’re a guardian?” he hisses.

“Yeah,” she says. “And so are you. Who takes in a grown man and four children? No human, that’s for sure.”

“Listen, I’ve only been assigned to Fletch for a couple years, I’m still not sure how it’s all going to play out.” He shakes his head. 

“Years?” she squeaks.

“Who are you assigned to?” he asks.

“Serena Campbell,” she says. “Wait, _years_?” 

“Serena?” Raf asks, scratching his head. “She seems so… normal.”

“She’s a lavender,” Bernie says. “My first.”

“Aye, Fletch too,” he says. “Poor chap.”

“The longest I was ever on a red was three months,” Bernie says, sticking her thumbnail into her mouth. “Are you saying I could be here for years?”

“They must think you’re good to give you the promotion,” Raf says. “I’ve heard some lavender cases last for the human’s whole life. I knew a guardian who was assigned a yellow and it turned into a lavender. Was with them from birth to death.” 

Bernie stares at him in horror. “I don’t think this is a promotion. I think this is a punishment.” 

Bernie doesn’t mean to be such a mess, but it feels like the life she’s dropped into is somewhat of a disaster. It seems like Serena is the one who is taking care of her half the time. Fixing her tea after her messy divorce, giving her pep talks throughout busy days. And Serena herself seems happier to be helpful to Bernie. Bernie finds she genuinely likes Serena - her wit, her pretty face, her big, open heart. 

They get more and more tangled up. Become co-leads, become best friends. Serena never seems to mind the dirt Bernie trails along with her. Ex-husband, affairs, even the lesbian thing doesn’t really seem to faze her. 

There’s that funny God again. Bernie supposes you are who you are, no matter what case you’re on. 

oooo

“What’s so bad about being her friend?” Raf asks, up on the roof one day. 

“Nothing,” Bernie says. “I like her.”

“So?” he asks.

“So,” Bernie says. “What, I’m just supposed to be her best friend until she dies? That’s not handling a case, Raf, that’s called co-dependency.” 

“You know,” Raf says. “I try not to think about Fletch as a case.” 

“Bully for you,” she mutters, taking a drag off her cigarette. Raf gives it a sour look, but it’s not going to kill either one of them, now is it? Bernie puffs away. 

“I just mean, every human life is sacred and important,” Raf says. “Humans are God’s very precious and favorite creations. Maybe thinking about them in an us versus them context is holding you back from being an even better guardian.” 

“You bucking for a promotion?” she asks.

“No,” he says. “But I’ve learned a lot about humanity from Fletch. Both good and ugly. Maybe we’re meant to be protecting them, sure, but if that was all it was, why not let us keep our real forms? Why make us human, too? Don’t you think we’re meant to be learning some lessons as well?” 

“I try not to think so much about it,” Bernie says. “We live a life of servitude in exchange for eternal life in heaven. The end.” 

“I bet you cleaned up on reds,” Raf chuckles. “No fuss, no muss.”

“Damn straight,” Bernie says, dropping her cigarette and stamping it out. “I just have to figure out how to get back there.” 

“You say you’re the thing making Serena happy?” Raf asks.

“I think so,” she says. “Sometimes.”

“So, find something else that makes her happy,” he says. “Transfer the responsibility of her happiness onto something or someone new.” 

He claps her on the shoulder and leaves her to have a think.

oooo

Bernie buys her a dog, leaves it on Serena’s front porch with a big red bow around its neck. 

Serena tells her about the surprise gift, about the dog’s sweet little face and warm, friendly licks but it turns out Jason is very allergic so she gives the dog to Fletch and the kids.

Raf finds her later and tells her, “Thanks for that.” Does not look pleased. 

Bernie sets Serena up on three dates, or tries to but Serena never really seems that interested in them. She doesn’t date neurosurgeons, she’s not in the mood, Jason will be waiting on her. But anytime Bernie offers to take her out, Serena always agrees. 

Finally, a man starts talking to Serena at Albie’s while Bernie’s in the toilet. She sees it right away when she comes out, the man leaning against the bar and Serena laughing at something he’s saying. She gives them space, watching from a table, but watching all the same. 

It’s only a few minutes later when she realizes something has gone wrong. Serena’s smile has changed enough that Bernie can see it is strained. She keeps edging back and Bernie’s on her feet without thinking about it. Crossing the bar in large strides. 

Hears Serena says, “Actually it’s getting late, so I’d rather not.”

And then the man touches her, wraps his fingers around the wrist holding the wine so it’s even more awkward for Serena to yank it away. 

Bernie sees red, grabs the chap by the shoulder, hurls him around and smashes her fist into his face. 

oooo

Hanssen comes down in human form. Raf’s eyes practically bug out of his head and rightfully so because even Bernie can’t remember the last time a supervisor took on a human role. 

He’s here as her supervisor.

“Oh ha, _ha_ ,” she says. They’re in his office and she’s holding an ice pack to her swollen hand. Serena had promised to wait for her and then to drive her home. 

“I was perfectly in control of the situation,” Serena had told her with a smirk. “But you can tell the white horse you rode in on thanks.” 

“Ms. Wolfe,” Hanssen says. 

She scowls. 

“I feel as if you are losing sight of your objective,” he says.

“Serena is who I was trying to protect!” she says.

“I meant your overall objective. To guard and aid the souls of humanity.” He looks at her over the rims of his specs. “I think that disqualifies clocking men in drinking establishments.”

“I just didn’t want her to get hurt,” Bernie says. 

“What is it about this life that chafes you so?” he asks. “You have a comfortable living, the children are grown. You’ve rather neatly disposed of the husband - we all had a good laugh about that.”

“It’s messy!” she says. “It’s needlessly complicated. How is anyone to know what someone like Serena even wants?”

“She wants want any human wants,” he says. “Food, shelter, love. Figure out what she already has and provide her with what she lacks.”

“If I were still on reds-”

“Well, you’re not,” he says in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “It was not easy to come down here, I’ve done so because I believe in you. I believe in your ability to accomplish the goal set for you here. I know, in my heart, you can do it. But no more violence. Understood?” 

She stands, tosses the ice pack down on his neat desk. “Fine,” she says and excuses herself. 

oooo

She’s broken the second rule. 

She presses her mouth to Serena’s who inhales with surprise but does not pull away. She kisses her and then pulls back, terrified. 

Serena, dazed, stares at Bernie’s mouth before leaning in again. 

Kissing Serena is like the warm feeling of the chit entering her heart turned up to one thousand. Kissing Serena makes Bernie feel like she’s herself again, fearless and holy. She feels no pain, no fear. She’s not held down by the weight of this mortal plane. 

Serena moans into her mouth, slips her tongue between her lips and Bernie is lost. 

The rule cracks. It shatters. Her heart is consumed with love.

oooo

Kiev is cold and dark and what she deserves. 

They must know that she’s abandoned her post. They must know that she’s a joke of a guardian, they must be sending someone to cut off her wings already. 

And when she hears a knock on her door, she knows her failure is complete. 

She opens it to find her supervisor, Henrik Hanssen, and Bernie’s son, Cameron Dunn. 

“Ms. Wolfe,” Hanssen says. “I’ve brought you some reinforcement.” 

She stands aside, allows them in. Once the door is closed, Cameron pulls something out of his pocket. 

It’s a chit and it’s silver. He holds it up. It says on it: _Berenice Wolfe_.

“Cameron!” she says. She looks over at Hanssen and demands, “What have you done?”

“Drastic times call for drastic measures,” he says. “Junior guardians are not often permitted to work in the field, but I’ve arranged for an exception.” 

“And what is that?” she asks, gesturing to the silver chit, glowing so brightly that it’s nearly hard to look at. 

“Mum,” he says. “Come on. You know what this is.” 

“Are you saying I’m in peril?” she asks him. 

“Silver chits are exceptionally rare, but not unheard of,” Hanssen says calmly, always unflappable in the face of Bernie’s mounting concern. “Because of the method of absorption, chits cannot be assigned to more than one guardian. The only solution is to then assign the guardian a guardian for additional support.”

He shoots them both an eerie, otherworldly smile. 

“Just here to help, mum,” Cameron says. 

“Go ahead, Mr. Dunn,” Hanssen says. 

Cameron lifts his shirt, presses the silver chit to his skin. They both watch his face as it disappears inside of him. 

“Whoa,” he says when the light has faded. 

“Describe the sensation, please,” Hanssen says. Bernie suspects ‘rare but not unheard of’ means that Hanssen has never had first hand experience with a silver chit for all his administrative talk. 

“Like… coming home from school and finding milk and cookies. Like Christmas morning. Like… a hug.” Cameron shakes his head. “Like home.” 

“Like home,” Bernie whispers, thinking of Serena. Of the name curled around her own unworthy heart.

“Speaking of home,” Hanssen says. “Mr. Dunn has come to escort you there. We have arranged him a spot on your ward." 

“You aren’t sending me to the freezer then?” she asks. 

“As always, Ms. Wolfe, we have great faith in you and your abilities. Have some faith in yourself.” 

When he’s gone, Cameron says, “Was that his idea of a pep talk?”

“That was it,” Bernie confirms. 

“Yikes,” Cameron says. 

oooo

Serena takes her back. God, twisted sense of humor aside, is also prone to gentle displays of true beauty, miracles in their own right, and Bernie knows Serena forgiving her must fall under that umbrella. Cameron advises her to just take the gift. To earn back Serena’s trust over time. 

“She loves you, mum,” Cameron says. “But she’s got to trust you, too.”

“And then this case will be done?” Bernie asks. 

Cameron gives her an odd look. “Is that really want you want?” he asks. 

“I want… what’s best for Serena,” she says. “I want what gets her out of peril.”

“What if the only thing that’s best for Serena is you?” Cameron asks. 

Bernie chuckles. “Listen, junior guardian, that’s not how this works. You get assigned a case and you see it through. You’re meant to protect them and help them. You have to be the tool that delivers them to safety, not the safety itself.”

He huffs, crosses his arms and says, “Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” 

“Don’t quote scripture at me, kiddo,” she says. “Love is not an elixir that magicks problems away.”

“But God-”

“God’s love, sure,” she says. “But we’re only human.”

She reaches out and gives him a hard pinch on the arm, hard enough to leave a mark. He cries out, yanks his arm away and rubs at the spot. “Welcome to the mortal coil,” she says. 

oooo

She doesn’t mean to start sleeping with Serena but the moment Serena gets Bernie into the house, Bernie finds herself shoved against a door with Serena’s lips against hers. And then they’re shedding clothes, stumbling through the house toward the stairs. 

Bernie lifts her easily, carries her up. Sets her gently on the bed and crawls over her. 

They make love for most of the evening. Starting and stopping and starting again, time blurring into something foreign and incorporeal. Serena in ecstasy is the closest thing to heaven she’s ever found here on earth. Bernie spends as much time as she can bringing Serena to orgasm, so much so that Serena starts to cry, begs her to stop, wraps her body around Bernie’s as she shudders and says, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” into Bernie’s flushed skin.

“I love you,” Bernie murmurs back because it’s true. It has been for some time, now. 

The chit inside her seems to throb.

She brushes Serena’s sweaty hair away from her forehead and drops a kiss on her temple. Holds and strokes her until she calms down again, can regulate her own breathing, has stopped shaking. 

“Bernie,” she murmurs. “You’ll stay this time?”

“No more running,” Bernie promises. 

Serena smiles, kisses Bernie’s neck, down her chest, across her bony hips, intent on giving Bernie pleasure. While nothing tops the look on Serena’s face while Bernie touches her, receiving from Serena is nearly as good. 

While Serena sleeps, Bernie steels herself. 

If she stays, really stays with Serena, she’ll be giving it all up. Her whole way of life. No more heaven, no more wings, no more eternal life. She’ll be human, really human. Pain and fear and alcohol, and the messy unfair world that goes along with it. She won’t remember the all encompassing love of God, that guardians even exist. She’ll be Bernie Wolfe forever. The ex-husband, the children, the military background, the patched together spine. 

Serena mutters in her sleep, not quite words. A little humming noise and then she rolls over, searching for Bernie’s warmth. Bernie runs her hand across Serena’s bare back and she settles into slumber once more. 

oooo

Bernie knocks on Henrik’s office door and is surprised to find that Cameron is already there with him.

“Ms. Wolfe,” he says. “We’ve been waiting for you.” He closes the door behind her. “I take it you’ve completed your assignment?”

“Nearly,” she says and then, overcome with what she has to do, bursts into tears. Even though she’d do anything for Serena, even though her love is pure and true and real, it’s still hard to leave everything else behind. To quit something she’d been working at for the whole of her existence. To let God down. 

Henrik holds her close as she weeps, brushes her hair back with his long fingers.

“Don’t you understand?” he asks in a measured, soothing tone. “You’ve done so much good. You’ve saved so many souls. Think of all the people you’ve carried home.”

She sniffs, buries her face in his soft, fragrant sweater. 

“This is not your punishment, this is your reward,” he whispers. 

She looks up at him, confused. He drags his thumb along the wet skin beneath her eyes. 

“If you stay with her, you’ll become human. You’ll grow old. You’ll die. You’ll live in eternal bliss,” he says. 

“No more chits?” she asks.

“No more chits,” he says. “Only love. Endless, warm love. Forever and ever.”

“Amen,” she whispers.

oooo

She wakes up in Serena’s arms, a niggling feeling of confusion just behind her eyes. A dream or… a responsibility, perhaps? But the feeling fades away as Serena shifts, pulls Bernie in closer, murmurs her love in her sleep. 

Warm and happy, Bernie feels herself relax.


	13. but i know i had the best day with you today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked for: _Ok so Bernie/Berena prompt if you'd like: Bernie's thoughts while being flown home from Afghanistan with a bloody neck fracture of all things // her telling Serena about it_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like, man, this is classic missparker fic. nothing happens! domestic puttering! only sort of answers the prompt! too dirty to be PG but not dirty enough to satisfy anyone! certainly doesn't take into account the most recent episode. just a meandering pile of not much.
> 
> enjoy??

“Maybe we can sleep in, for once,” Serena says, rubbing her face. She looks as exhausted as Bernie feels, weary down to the bone. The holiday gauntlet is not for the faint of heart. With the new year just behind them, everyone is looking forward to things calming down and getting back to normal. Whatever normal means for AAU, at any rate. Less stomach pumping, surely. 

“Yes,” Bernie says. And then, “No. Maybe a little. I have an appointment with my GP at 10:00.”

“It’s our first day off together in… frankly, ever at all, and you have to go see your GP?”

“Booked it ages ago, sorry,” she says.

“Everything okay?”

“Just a check up,” she says. “You know, spine. Heart.”

“Right,” Serena says. “I forget sometimes, how… how you came to Holby.” 

“I was blown up,” Bernie says lightly. 

Serena seems to go still, go a little pale. “You were.”

“It’s fine,” Bernie says dismissively. 

“You could have very easily died and we would have never even met,” Serena says.

“Then you wouldn’t have known what you were missing any how,” Bernie counters. 

“It’s not funny,” she says. 

"Sorry,” Bernie says, trying to make herself look more stern. She frowns, makes her mouth into a hard line. “Sorry,” she says again, gruff and lower.

Serena swats at her. “Pillock.”

“Oi,” Bernie says in false offense. 

They’re still on Serena’s couch, leaning against one another. They’d made it home, collapsed only to try to gather enough strength to make it up the stairs. Bernie still has her coat on, actually. It’s cold in Serena’s big, drafty house. Serena and Jason both run warm, possibly a genetic thing, possibly because they are built for the English climate whereas Bernie is tall and thin and has never managed to carry much in the way of weight. She’s always cold. Cold finger tips, cold toes, the tip of her nose always red. 

Spending time with Serena has meant layering up. An extra vest under her shirt or her jumper. Thicker socks. But sleeping with Serena is like having her own portable heater to cozy up with, so it’s not all bad. 

“Shall we have a fire, then?” Bernie asks. Serena looks over at her, at the fireplace. It gets more use now that Bernie is around to do the heavy lifting. She’d taken Jason out not last week just to help her chop logs from the delivery that Serena gets once a year. They’d gone through it carefully - the proper way to safely wield the axe, proper technique for a swing, protective eyewear. Serena had stood at the garden window watching them, Bernie had noticed that straight away.

Jason had been frustrated that it took two swings to accomplish what Bernie could do in one and then the rest of the evening had been spent discussing fitness and how one might increase one’s upper body strength. They had even spent some time at the computer pulling up different exercise videos.

“It’s not necessary to be very strong to be a surgeon,” Bernie had explained when Jason asked why she kept up many of her strengthening exercises even though she’d left the army. “But it often proves useful.”

Serena had snorted, glancing at the faucet at her kitchen sink and Bernie had suppressed her own smile at the memory. Not something she wanted to explain to Jason, no matter how much she generally enjoyed their conversations. 

“I thought we might just head upstairs,” Serena says now. “But if you want a fire, we could stay down for a spell.” 

Bernie considers this. They are so tired, but it’s not actually that late. If she goes to bed now, she could be up at four or five, left to pace Serena’s cold, dark house alone while Serena slept blissfully through to her alarm. 

“How about this,” Bernie says. “How about I make a fire and some drinks and you go put on something more comfortable. And if you fall asleep, I’ll carry you up to bed.”

Serena snorts. “You will not.”

But there’s something in her eyes, the way her mouth falls open just a little that excites Bernie because she knows that Serena knows good and well that carrying Serena up the stairs is a task she could easily manage if she had to. 

Strength comes in handy, see? But Jason is not with them tonight for the lesson. No, Alan has taken Jason out to the cinema and then for the rest of the evening, to return him late morning tomorrow. Serena had offered him some compensation for the favor but Alan had turned the money down saying, “I used to be his carer but now I’m just his mate.”

Serena had gone weepy for a bit after they’d dropped him off. Bernie had driven, keeping a hand on her knee the whole time, removing it only to change gears, and then putting it back again. 

Serena is looking at her now with soft lips and eyes and Bernie gathers enough strength to lean over and kiss her. She means it to be just a peck before she gets up, but Serena tilts her head, never quite closes her mouth. Bernie slips her tongue inside.

It derails things quite a bit. 

In the end, they forego the fire, but Bernie still sends Serena up to the bedroom and busies herself in the kitchen. Serena tends to drink wine and little else, but Bernie pokes around her cupboards until she finds a stash of dusty bottles. Pulls out an unopened bottle of Hennessy and makes a poor attempt at a Crusta for each other them. Serena has a bowl of oranges and lemons and plenty of sugar, though she must forge on without the orange liqueur. She finds some bitters, though. She sips at one and it tastes fine to her, if not absolutely perfect. The sugar will appease Serena well enough.

Upstairs, Serena has already changed into her robe and is in bed, even though she still has all her makeup on. Bernie smiles at this, hands her the drink which Serena accepts.

“What’s all this, then?” Serena asks.

“Just something to warm you up,” Bernie says. She’d left her coat downstairs, at least, though she’s still in her jumper and jeans and socks. Serena rolls her eyes at this but it doesn’t stop her from sipping at it while watching Bernie undress. She takes off the jumper, the tight jeans with some struggle. 

Bernie has some clothes here. They’ve not spoken about any of that, but anytime Bernie comes for the night, she leaves her clothes in Serena’s hamper. Serena launders them and keeps them. Bernie has a whole drawer now, that Serena has emptied for her and filled with her own things. It’s all work things, though, she never has consciously brought anything over just to have at Serena’s so she borrows a pair of Serena’s flannel pants. Even when she ties the drawstring tight, they hang dangerously low on her hips. 

Serena doesn’t mind at all. 

Bernie rescues her own drink from the top of the bureau and then climbs onto the bed next to her. 

They’d spent nearly the whole day at work, then had taken Jason out to dinner and dropped him off with Alan. Serena yawns and it catches, Bernie goes too. 

“What a pair,” Serena says. “Wild to the end.”

“Oh, I think we’ve done plenty of wild things in this bed,” Bernie says. 

Serena smiles, not the steamy one that Bernie sometimes gets but the one where Serena tucks her chin and just beams at her. 

“True,” she says. 

They sip at their drinks. 

“Wild enough for you?” Serena asks lightly. 

Bernie stares at her. “What?”

“Nothing, never mind,” Serena says, leaning over to set her drink on the nightstand. 

“No,” Bernie says. “Not never mind. Serena you know that I find you incandescently attractive, right?”

“Yes, darling, but there’s… attraction and there’s satisfaction and I just hope that you’d tell me if you weren’t… getting the things you need.”

“Um.”

“But then you don’t always tell me things, do you?” Serena says. “You suffer in silence.”

“I’m not sure I’d consider orgasms silent suffering,” Bernie says. 

“But you will tell me if there’s something you need?” Serena says. 

Bernie sets her drink down, wraps her arms around Serena and kisses her cheek. “Of course.”

Serena curls into her. Kisses her neck. 

The silence stretches between them for a while until Bernie says, “Is there something you need that you aren’t getting?” 

“No,” Serena says quickly. Bernie sits up and frowns at her. 

“That was awfully quick,” she says. 

“Not in bed,” Serena qualifies. “I’m very… happy with that.” 

Bernie blinks at her. 

“How come,” Serena says. “You never talk about the before?”

Bernie shakes her head. “Before what?”

“Your time in the service,” Serena says. 

“I talk about that all the time,” Bernie says. 

Serena gives her a look. “You talk around it. Sometimes.” 

Bernie reaches over, picks up her drink. Swallows the rest of it in one large gulp.

“I’ve upset you,” Serena says, throwing her legs over the side of the bed. “I’m going to take my makeup off.” 

She shuts the door to the bathroom behind her.

“We were talking about sex, I thought,” Bernie says to the empty room.

oooo

They do sleep in. Bernie makes it to half past seven which is late for her and rises quietly, slipping on Serena’s robe before heading downstairs. 

She puts on the kettle, figures they don’t have to work - touch wood - and so coffee is not the necessity it usually is. And while the water is heating on the stove because Serena’s electric one is on the fritz, Bernie steps into Serena’s wellies and trudges out into the garden and around the side of the house to the woodpile.

She’ll have that fire now, thank you kindly. 

She makes two trips - enough to keep the fire going for awhile should they want it. The fireplace doesn’t do much for warming up anything other than the vicinity right around it, but she can nudge up the heat a few degrees, too, while Serena is too unconscious to notice. 

By the time she has the wood in, the kettle is starting to go off. 

She makes herself tea, carries it to the fireplace and makes an admirable fire if she does say so herself. 

She gets her phone out of her bag and sits by the fire. 

The battery is low. Serena has a charger around for her somewhere, now that she spends the night more often. They all have iphones now but Bernie’s is old and has a different little plug than Serena’s newer one. She’d dug it out of some drawer in the office and had said, “We could get you a new phone, you know.” 

“I don’t want to be easier to reach,” Bernie had muttered and they’d not spoken about it again. 

This phone calls and texts and that’s all she really uses it for anyway. She has some emails that she ignores and a text from Cam with a question. He’s obviously at work because there’s another one right after it telling her to ignore it. She scrolls through them all - one from Serena about whether she’d wanted coffee yesterday. Serena signs everything with a little x. 

She has to scroll a bit until she finds the thread between her and Charlotte. Nothing since confirming plans for Christmas eve and even that was stilted, though it had gone all right in the end.

Bernie texts her now, just a little line to say she’s thinking of her and that she hopes her new year went well. It’s too early to expect any sort of response. Cam was always her early riser, getting up to make breakfast with her when she was home. Charlotte was quiet, introverted and always keen on sleep. Early to bed, late to rise, a nap in between. 

Cameron had told Bernie to back off after Christmas, to let Charlotte come back to her, not to be pushy. She hopes a single text isn’t pushy. She can’t unring the bell, anyway, it’s gone and sent. 

She’s been downstairs for over an hour before she hears any signs of life from above. And then when Serena appears, she’s pulled on a sweatshirt over her vest top and sweatpants. Her hair is mussed and she still looks half asleep, though is awake enough to mutter, “Did you nick my robe?”

“Ah,” she says. “Borrowed, perhaps.” 

“What are you doing down here?” Serena demands, coming all the way into the room, by passing the sofa and coming to sit right on Bernie’s lap, close to the fire. 

“Waiting for you,” Bernie says, slipping her hand under the sweatshirt to rub at Serena’s back. “Thinking.”

“Is there coffee?” Serena asks.

“I made tea,” Bernie says. “I’ll make you a cup, or coffee if you’d rather.”

“I can do it,” Serena says. But she doesn’t get up right away, allows instead Bernie to rub at her for a bit. Bernie finally pulls her hand away and leans forward to kiss her back. 

“How are you feeling?” Bernie asks. 

“Ask me after coffee,” she says and gets up. 

They make breakfast together. Nothing fancy, just toast and bacon and Bernie is in charge of the eggs because it’s something she can do on her own. She prods at them with a spatula while Serena stands right beside her and eyes the bacon. 

They eat at the little table in the kitchen instead of the dining room because it’s perfect for two and Jason isn’t home yet. 

“Do you think we’ll get through the whole day without getting called in?” Serena asks. 

“Raf is there,” Bernie says. “And Sacha is on call if they need an extra set of hands.” 

“Do you want me to come with you to your appointment?” Serena asks. “When is it?”

“An hour,” Bernie says. “Not too early. You don’t have to come.”

“I know I don’t have to, but I would if you wanted.”

“It’s all right. Stay here, I won’t be long,” Bernie promises. 

She doesn’t shower, has spent too long puttering around for that, but she puts on some of the clean clothes that Serena has left in her drawer and brushes her hair with Serena’s hairbrush. She has her own toothbrush.

Serena kisses her goodbye and she just misses Jason - she sees Alan’s car pass her on the street as she drives into town. 

She’s waiting to be called in when her phone buzzes in her pocket. She pulls it out, thinking it’s a text from Serena but it keeps buzzing. An actual phone call. Work, probably.

But no. It’s Charlotte.

She scrambles to answer it, sliding her finger along the bottom of the screen and bringing it to her ear as she stands. 

“Hello?” she says.

“Hey, mum,” Charlotte says. She sounds sleepy, like she just woke up. 

Bernie vacates the waiting room and hovers just out in the hall. 

“Charlotte,” she says. “Hello! Hi. How are you?”

“Fine,” she says. “Saw your text.”

“Ah yes,” Bernie says. “Well, was it… was it good? Your New Years?”

“It was fine,” Charlotte says. “You?”

“Good,” Bernie says. “Fine.”

“Did you… spend it with Serena?” she asks.

“Sort of,” Bernie says.

“You spent it at work,” Charlotte guesses. 

“Right,” she says. “Busy time for us.” 

“Hmm,” Charlotte says. 

“It’s so… good to hear from you but…”

“You’re at work now,” Charlotte says. “Of course, I’m sorry.”

“No!” Bernie says. “No, I’m just… about to head into something but I should be done in a bit. Can I ring you back? Later? Today?” Bernie asks.

“Sure,” Charlotte says. “If you want.”

“Okay,” Bernie says. “Good.”

“Bye,” Charlotte says and hangs up before getting anything in reply. Bernie hustles back into the waiting room and a nurse is standing at the door.

“Dr. Wolfe?” she says. 

“Sorry, yeah,” Bernie says and follows her back.

oooo

She goes home before she returns to Serena’s. Stands in her cold, dusty flat and looks around. She knows Serena is expecting her back, but it felt like she should at least check on things at home. And then, having what seems like a somewhat novel idea, she takes an old backpack from the cupboard and starts throwing things into it. Knickers, socks, pajamas. A plastic bag full of makeup - she’s always bumming mascara and rouge off Serena but she likes her own stuff. She brings a comb and that novel that’s been neglected on her nightstand. Maybe she’ll actually read it if it’s in her orbit. 

When she gets back to Serena’s, Serena is waiting at the door, like she’d been watching for her. She looks at the backpack and smirks.

“What’s that?”

“Supplies,” Bernie says. “If you don’t mind.” 

The smirk melts into a smile and she shakes her head. “No, I don’t.”

“Good,” Bernie says. 

Serena has made lunch, but Bernie excuses herself first to call Charlotte back. She rings her in the garden, standing under a cloudy sky threatening rain. It rings several times and then goes to her voicemail.

“ _Hi, you’ve reached Charlotte Dunn. I can’t answer just now, but leave your number and I’ll get back to you._ ”

Bernie winces. Voicemail not her forte.

“Hi Lottie. Charlotte, sorry. I know you don’t like that anymore. Um, this is your mum. Obviously. I thought maybe… we could have lunch or something, if you’ve got the time. You could come to Holby or I could come there. Call me back or, or text me if that’s better. All right. I… I love you, my dear. Bye, now.” 

She ends the call, shoves her phone in her pocket, mutters, “Stupid, you’re a right twat,” to herself and stalks back inside. 

Serena is waiting on her, sandwiches and crisps on the table. 

“How did it go?” she asks cautiously.

“Just left a message, that’s all,” Bernie says. “She’s probably busy. I fobbed her off earlier, she thought I was at work.”

“Kids never answer their phones,” Serena says. “She’ll call back.” 

Bernie slumps into her seat. 

“Did you tell her you were at your doctor’s appointment?”

Bernie shakes her head. “Didn’t want to worry her.”

“Eat,” Serena says. 

“Where’s Jason?”

“He’s eating in his room,” Serena says. “Not usually permitted but I thought, hey. I’m a nice aunt.” 

“You are,” Bernie agrees.

“I thought after lunch maybe we could have a nap?” Serena asks. 

Bernie blinks at her. “An actual nap or is that a lovely euphemism?”

“What do you think?” Serena asks.

“Well, what about Jason?” Bernie asks.

“Alan gave him new noise canceling headphones for Christmas,” Serena says. “He’s already told me he’s going to spend the rest of the afternoon with them on watching Star Wars.” 

Bernie picks up her sandwich, shoves as much of it in her mouth as she can.

Serena throws her head back and laughs.

oooo

This is the most luxurious afternoon Bernie has passed in some time. Serena’s bedroom door is firmly closed and they are both naked in her bed. Serena is dozing, asleep on her stomach with her face buried deep into the pillow. Her hair is mussed from Bernie’s hands in it and Bernie can see the flush on her skin is just starting to fade.

She’d kill for a cigarette but it’s not worth getting dressed over, not worth leaving the cocoon of this room. They have hours, yet, before Jason will want dinner. They have time before them, theirs to stretch out languidly. 

Serena gives a little snuffle, nearly a snore, loud enough that she wakes herself up. 

She rolls over to her back, stretches, murmurs, “I wasn’t sleeping.” 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Bernie says. She leans over to leave a string of open mouthed kisses across Serena’s decolletage and then up to her neck.

“I’m an old woman,” Serena says, batting her away. “One needs a certain period of recovery after fifty.”

“We’re the same age,” Bernie murmurs. “And I could have you again right now. Easily.” 

“Excuse me, but I am three months younger,” Serena complains, but she stops pushing on Bernie and instead loops her arm around Bernie’s neck and twists her head to bring their lips together. Bernie kisses her fervently, hotly, all tongues and wet heat. 

They both freeze when they hear Jason’s door open, stay still until they hear the bathroom door close. 

Bernie pulls back, drops a kiss on the tip of her nose. 

Serena gives her another of those beaming smiles and says, “I more than like you.”

“I more than like you, too,” Bernie murmurs. Serena is poking fun at her, she may never live it down, but at least they both know what it means. What it really means.

Bernie snuggles up to Serena, her head resting on Serena’s soft chest, and Serena strokes at her hair, humming softly under her breath. 

“I don’t even really remember it, you know,” Bernie says, eyes closed. 

“Remember what?” she asks.

“The explosion. We were just in the hummer, heading to a different base and then the world was upside down, I think.”

Serena’s hand stops. Bernie can feel her fingers tighten in her hair. 

“I woke up on the plane on the way back home. They brought me to Holby City because of Marcus but of course he works at the private hospital and I got diverted to the NHS and the rest you know, I think.”

Bernie’s quiet until she feels Serena’s hand start to move again. 

“Were you frightened?” Serena asks finally. “On the plane?”

“Yes,” Bernie says. “And frustrated. We dealt with my sort of injuries all the time but…” How to say it? Serena understands anyway.

“You couldn’t operate on yourself.”

“No,” Bernie says. 

Serena leans down and presses her mouth to the crown of Bernie’s head. 

“I wasn’t afraid of coming home, necessarily,” Bernie says. “Just that I wouldn’t get to go back.” She rolls over and looks up at Serena.

“That’s what happened,” Serena says quietly.

“And now I’m glad for it,” Bernie says. “Now there’s nothing I’d trade this life away for. Nothing, Serena.” 

She kisses the skin between Serena’s breasts, kisses down her stomach, disappears completely beneath the blankets. Does her utmost to convince Serena that her words are true.

oooo

Jason talks about Star Wars all through dinner and his headphones and the time he spent with Alan. Finally, when they are finishing up their puddings, he takes a breath and says, “What did you and Bernie do, Auntie Serena?”

“We had a nap,” says Serena, winking at Bernie.


	14. but i don’t wanna dance if i’m not dancing with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mylittleredgirl said: _i got one... five times bernie and serena ~could~ have met but didn't (+ one time they did)_

_-i._

The maternity unit is overcrowded and Bernie overhears one of the nurses make a joke about the blizzard last December. About how anytime people were trapped inside during winter, there is always a wave of babies in the summer. 

August is a cruel month to be this pregnant, so the nurse telling her she’s going to have to share her delivery room only seems fitting. She just smiles in what she hopes comes off as understanding. She’s given patients unpleasant news herself, she knows when there’s nothing to be done, there’s nothing to be done.

Her back twinges and she clamps down on the urge to cry out. _Steady on, Wolfe_ , she tells herself. _Long night ahead_.

They get through the intake forms and then the nurse wheels her down the hall and into a room where there’s a freshly made bed with a folded gown on it. Past the bed, a drawn curtain.

“Where’s your husband, love?” the nurse asks. Bernie thinks she introduced herself as Sarah but can’t be certain. 

“At home with my son,” Bernie says. 

“You’ve not brought anyone with you?” she asks.

“Well,” Bernie says. “I’ve brought the baby.”

From the other side of the curtain she hears a snort. 

“Okay, well then, someone will be round in a bit to prep you,” says the nurse, possibly named Sarah. “Press the button if you need anything.”

“Cheers,” Bernie says. 

“Do you need help into the bed?” she asks.

“No, thank you,” Bernie says. “I’m not that far gone yet.”

“Seconds always come fast, so scream if you need us.” the nurse says and then grins. “A little maternity humour.”

“Hilarious,” Bernie mutters as the nurse walks away. The clock on the wall tells her that they’re only a few hours from the shift handover and she hopes Sarah will be long gone by the time her little one decides to make an appearance. 

She looks around the little room. Quite standard really, aside from the border of baby ducks along the wall. As if somehow the babies will be taking note of the decor. There’s a television in one corner that’s better suited for the bed closer to the window, but it’s off. Still, she pokes her head around the curtain to find the other bed occupied by a woman looking out the window.

“Sorry,” Bernie says. 

She turns and looks at Bernie, up and down, and frowns. “You’re one of those women who probably looks exactly the same from behind. Like you’ve got a football under your blouse. Meanwhile I’m a hundred and forty seven months pregnant and the size of a house!”

“Ah, well,” Bernie says, at a loss. “You look… fine.”

“I’m wearing a hospital gown. I’ve had bedsheets with less fabric. You don’t have to lie,” she says. “You’re the one sharing the room?”

“Looks like,” Bernie says. 

The woman looks to be around her age, shoulder length chestnut brown hair, wispy fringe, dark eyes. She’s… pretty, Bernie notices fretfully. And in surprisingly good spirits considering their immediate situation. Though some people might call this their happiest day ever, Bernie knows such declarations don’t come before the baby is out. Up until the moment they’re deposited in your arms, it’s burning rubbish at best. 

“Do you have a name?” she asks. 

“Captain Wolfe,” she says and then freezes, embarrassed. God. “Sorry, that was purely… habit.”

The woman smiles showing a row of beautiful, pearly white teeth. “Do you have a first name, Captain?”

“Unfortunately,” she says. “Berenice.”

“Let me guess, you go by… Bernie?” 

Bernie is impressed and grins. “Wouldn’t you?”

“I’m Serena,” she says. “Go put on your gown, you don’t want them to come to shave your bits and not be ready for it. The clucking and tutting will never end.” She turns back to the window. 

Bernie has another twinge in the toilet, bracing her hand on the sink and waiting for it to pass. Then she folds up her clothes and carries them into the room, tucking them into the nightstand by her bed. It feels weird to have the curtain drawn when they’re both alone so she pulls it back halfway and says, “Is it alright if I…?” Trails off. 

“By all means,” Serena says. “Misery loves company.”

“Oh,” Bernie says sympathetically. “Is it very bad?”

“No, not yet,” Serena admits. “But my waters broke so they had to admit me.” 

“Your first?” Bernie asks. 

Serena nods. 

“Second,” she says. “They say it’s another boy but I think… well. We’ll know soon enough, I suppose.” 

“They tell me girl,” Serena says. 

“And your partner, is… are they coming?”

“My husband is at work,” Serena says. “Across town. Called him, he said, ‘babe, it’ll be ages!’ so I’m to call him again when things get serious, whatever that means.”

Bernie stares at her. “I see.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “Told him I called my mum.”

“Oh, where is she?” Bernie asks. 

“I didn’t really,” Serena says. “She’s not great in a crisis.” 

“Well here’s to powerful and independent women of the 90s who do it on their own.” 

They’re interrupted when a nurse comes in with an electric razor and a can of shaving cream, a little pink razor to get it down to the skin. She closes the door behind her.

“All right,” she says, yanking the curtain closed again. “Let’s get you prepped.”

oooo

Bernie dozes a little and is woken up when a real contraction hits, not just a twinge. She cries out because she’s not prepared and then the curtain flies back and Serena is there looking over in concern. She pulls the Entonox dispenser from the wall and hands it to Bernie.

“Take a breath,” she murmurs. Bernie does, takes two before pulling it away. 

“Did I wake you?” Bernie asks when the worst of it has passed.

“No,” she says. “They just checked me. I’m only two centimeters, can you believe it?” She gives Bernie a smile. “Shall I call someone for you?”

“No,” she says. “I’ll call when it’s here.”

“If you’re sure,” she says. She reaches across Bernie and pulls at the paper coming out of the fetal monitor that they’d attached to Bernie. “Oof, look at that.” She holds it up for Bernie to see. “It’s getting real now, isn’t it? If you want pain relief, you’d better press that button and get the doctor in here before you’re too far gone.”

“I thought you said this was your first baby,” Bernie says.

“It is.”

Bernie looks at her, narrows her eyes. “You’re a doctor.”

“Guilty as charged,” she says. “I work in this very hospital, can you believe it? Was supposed to deliver across town.”

“Your husband?”

“An anesthetist at St. James,” she says. “Rotten luck, eh?”

“My husband works at St. James too,” Bernie says. 

“No kidding,” Serena says. “For as many people who live in Holby, it’s a small town it would seem.” 

It feels smaller everyday, but Bernie doesn’t complain to the poor woman sharing her room. She just wants to have this baby, make sure she’s healthy, and get back to work. 

“And you what, fly planes in your spare time, captain?” Serena asks, waddling back to her own bed and sitting down with a huff. 

“Oh, no army, not air force,” she says. “I’m a surgeon. Trauma.”

Serena laughs. “What a pair we are. We could double date!” 

“An incestuous lot, doctors,” Bernie says. “We never leave the hospital so…”

Serena points at the monitor. “Watch it, captain, here comes another.” 

She’s right. A roiling wave of pain. Serena watches her sympathetically and then, when the worst has passed says, “Push the button, Bernie. Let them know.”

Bernie does.

oooo

Second babies do come faster. The contractions are practically back to back now. She gets a few seconds of relief between them but that’s it. She’s vaguely aware of a parade of people between her legs and someone tells her she’s only seven centimeters which can’t be true, but somehow is. And then she sort of remembers a scuffle between Serena and her doctor about putting her on a Pitocin drip to speed up the labour. 

“It’ll make everything hurt so much more!” Serena complains.

“Your waters have broken, we need to speed things along for the sake of the baby!”

“Why can’t we just let nature-”

“Serena, if I need my spleen removed, I’ll call you. If you need to have a baby, you listen to me!” 

Serena is put on the drip. 

Bernie feels sweaty and miserable and when the nurse comes in and tells her it’s time to take a walk, she feels like spitting. 

“You too Mrs. Campbell, you can walk together. It’ll do you both some good.” 

That’s how she ends up going up and down the hall arm in arm with Serena. Serena wheels along her drip with her other hand. It’s slow going because Bernie keeps having to stop, to double over and ride it out. They’re not the only people meandering the halls. 

“The ultimate walk of shame,” Bernie manages. “Can we rest?”

So they lean against the wall. 

“I wasn’t even… I’m gone a lot and Marcus said we ought to have another one so our son wasn’t always alone. A built in playmate.” Bernie scoffs. “Sure, I said. I’m a bloody moron.”

“You’ll forget it all when she gets here,” Serena says giving her arm a squeeze. “Come on, one more stretch and we’ll go back to the room. If they yell at us, I’ll tell them to fuck off.” 

Bernie laughs, cries out, grits her teeth.

oooo

“Come on, Berenice,” the nurse says. This one introduced herself as Heather and looks to be about sixteen. “Time to push.” 

She’s so tired, it seems a bad design having to labour for so long before the actual birthing even begins. She looks over at Serena’s bed but someone has pulled the curtain. The last thing she remembers is them coming in and hooking Serena up to a fetal monitor; her calling her husband and saying, “It’s serious now, Eddie.” 

Bernie pushes and pushes. She’s glad Marcus isn’t here, frankly, he’s shit in a crisis. He frets, which helps nothing ever. She’s glad she only has brothers, none of which volunteered to hold her hand while she pushed a human being out of her fanny. Maybe she wishes her mother were still here, maybe she could imagine a mother being helpful in this moment. Knowing what to say, at least. 

“One more.” This from the doctor who has appeared just at the end, for the finale. She gives another huge push, feels the baby come out. 

She can also feel that she’s torn.

The doctor stitches her back together while they take the baby away and then, finally, they hand it over. 

A little girl. 

Bernie holds her close. 

oooo

Bernie should be sleeping. They’ve take the baby away, she’s called Marcus but it’s the middle of the night. 

“Just come in the morning,” she’d told him. “Bring Cam. I’m fine, we’re both fine.” 

“Okay,” he’d said. 

She puts on the underwear that are basically diapers, the crotch thick with cotton to catch the bleeding and then eases on a pair of flannel pants and her robe. She ties the belt and then makes her way back to her previous room. 

Serena’s still in there, though there’s someone else in the other bed now, asleep. Serena is alone, moaning into the bend of her arm. Bernie rushes to her bedside, picks up the cup of melting ice chips. Scoops them into her fingers and presses them to Serena’s lips.

Serena takes them, opens her eyes.

“What are you doing here, Captain?” she mutters.

“I, ah… you shouldn’t be alone,” Bernie says. “Charlotte is asleep, I figured I’d stay with you until your husband arrives.”

“Charlotte,” Serena says. “Pretty.”

“Thanks,” Bernie says. “How many centimeters?”

“Eight,” Serena says, and then reaches out and grabs her hand, squeezes and moans. “Shit. God damn it.”

“Breathe in,” Bernie says. 

“Will they be friends?” Serena asks, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. “Charlotte and my Elinor? Will they grow up together?”

Bernie squeezes her hand. “We’ll make sure of it, okay?”

Serena nods. “Okay.”

 

_-ii._

Someone rear ends her.

“Fucking fantastic,” Serena mutters, flicking on her turn indicator and pulling to the side of the road. 

The bumper is dented and the woman who gets out of the car seems a little dazed. 

“Your car seems fine,” Serena calls out dryly. “Congratulations.”

“Sorry,” she says. “I…”

“What happened?” Serena asks, reaching through the open window for her purse.

“I just…” the woman says. 

Serena frowns. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head?”

“No, no,” she says. 

“Have you been drinking?” Serena asks.

“No!” she says. “Sorry, I think I just got distracted. Let me get my insurance.”

They exchange information. 

“Well, Mrs. Wolfe,” Serena says. “Sorry to have met you this way.” 

“Yeah, I’m sorry about… my insurance will cover everything,” she says. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Serena asks. The more that Serena looks at her, the less sure she is. Her clothes are rumpled, she looks tired and a little ashen.

“Yes,” she says.

“I’m already late for work,” Serena says. “So sod it. Do you want to go get a cup of tea and talk it over?”

“No,” she says. “Sorry. I have to… I have to get home.” 

“All right,” Serena says. “Drive carefully. More carefully than you were before.”

“Sure,” she says. “Sorry again.” 

Serena is about to get into her car when she hears the other women lean over and throw up.

She rolls her eyes upward and says, “Oh come _on_.”

She knows something must be wrong because when she really puts her back into, Berenice Wolfe doesn’t dismiss her again, agrees to follow her off the main road and into the nearest car park. 

There Serena looks her over, checks her pulse, her pupils.

“I’m a doctor, too,” Berenice says.

“Are you?” Serena asks. “Because you seem to be in shock.”

“I… I just…” She shakes her head. “I was out of town and I came home as a surprise and found my husband in bed with another woman.” 

“Oh,” Serena says. “Yes that does tend to happen, I’ve found. I’m sorry.” 

“I’ve been spending the last, oh I don’t know, twenty years feeling guilty about this marriage and now I think I might be free of it,” she says. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do with myself.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want that drink? Doesn’t have to be tea.”

Berenice looks up at her. “What did you say your name was?”

“Serena Campbell,” Serena says. 

“I’m Bernie,” she says. “Maybe I could do with a drink.”

 

_-iii._

It’s rare she goes somewhere other than Albie’s to drink but she doesn’t feel like facing her coworkers today. There’s a pub down the street from her house that she avoids because it looks dirty and always is playing sports on the televisions. 

Today she drives home and then walks to it because she wants to get good and tanked. 

There was a time she would’ve had people to call. Friends from outside of the hospital to meet her but all she does these days is work and between that and the divorce, most of her friendships have lapsed. There’s no one left to call on a Tuesday night who’d come out to meet her. 

She walks up to the bar, orders a glass of wine. There are no empty tables here in the front so she heads down a narrow hallway. Smaller rooms branch off - this one full of men in football jerseys, hollering at the game on the screen mounted to the wall. On the other side a mirror image of the same room except this one has no tv and is filled with women. Ah, she has found her place. 

Two women share a table and then a lone woman on a couch next to an armchair. 

“You mind?” Serena asks.

The woman has a book on her lap. She looks up, perplexed and then sees Serena is speaking to her. 

“No,” she says. “Be my guest.” 

It always seems a good idea, going alone to a bar or a pub but now that she’s here, she feels silly and lonely. She studies the woman as well as she can without all out staring at her. Blonde, though from a bottle probably, but not meant to look cheap. She’s fair, but so is Serena. She’s got her hair in little clips, a flannel shirt on over jeans. 

“Is your husband watching the game?” Serena asks. 

The woman looks up again. “No husband,” she says. 

“Me either,” Serena says. “Divorce.” 

“Yes, me too,” she says. “He wasn’t much of a drinker.” 

Serena scrunches up her nose at that. She looks at the table in front of them. The woman has liquor, not wine or beer. Something golden over ice. 

“I’m Serena,” she says.

“Bernie,” the woman says. Gives her just a flash of a polite smile and then lowers her eyes back to her book.

“They should sell alcohol in libraries,” Serena muses. “You’d fit right in.” 

Bernie closes her book over her finger and looks up at Serena again. 

“My ex-husband doesn’t drink, so I know I won’t run into him here, when I’m in town,” Bernie says. 

“You’re not from Holby?” Serena asks.

“Not anymore,” Bernie says. 

“So why come back then?”

“My children still live here,” she says. “Mostly grown now.” 

“Mine too,” Serena says. “Just the one.” 

Bernie picks up her drink and finishes it. Serena thinks that’s it, she’s going to leave. Serena and her inability to sit in silence has run her off. Just as well, probably. 

“Shall I get the next round?” Bernie asks, standing. 

Serena looks up at her, surprised. “Sure,” she says. 

Several hours later, they’re laughing in the street, wobbling their way toward Serena’s house. Two blocks from the pub Bernie stops and says, “I forgot my book!”

“Shall we go back?” Serena asks. 

“No, it’s fine,” she says. “I’ll pay the library off.” 

“Maybe a kind soul will return it for you,” Serena says. 

“Do you still believe in kind people?” Bernie asks. 

“Oh, I’ve got to,” Serena says, nudging Bernie with her body because she’s not walking quite straight. “Couldn’t live in the world otherwise.” 

“You’re lovely,” Bernie says. “I’m glad to have met you, tonight.” 

“Same,” Serena says. “I’m rubbish at making friends so-”

“No! That can’t be,” Bernie says. “You made me like that.” She snaps.

“Okay, no, I’m very charming and pretty,” Serena says with a cheshire grin.

“No argument here,” Bernie says.

“But I’m not great at keeping them,” she says. “I work too much.”

“Well,” Bernie says. “Mostly I live in another country so we may have to be friends by correspondence. Less pressure, though, yeah?”

“Shall I send you care packages to Kandahar?” Serena asks. 

“We have email now,” Bernie says. Serena laughs. 

“This is me,” Serena says. “Come in, we’ll phone for a cab for you.” 

Bernie follows her up the walk, through the gate, to the porch. Serena forgot to leave the porch light on for herself. She’s still adjusting to Elinor being out of the house - the things she’d never forget to do for her daughter she neglects when it comes to herself. She finds her keys easy enough but then struggles to find the right one.

Bernie reaches out, touches Serena’s elbow. Serena looks up, is about to apologize when Bernie leans in and kisses her.

It’s a surprise, a real surprise. She inhales quickly but it’s not… it’s not a bad feeling, really. She relaxes, lets it happen.

Bernie pulls back, looks at her face. 

“I…” Serena says. “Oh…”

And then she kisses Bernie. 

Because why not, exactly? What does she have to lose?

 

_-iv._

Ellie agrees to come home for Christmas if she can bring her boyfriend. Serena reluctantly agrees. Ellie has had many boyfriends but has not often let Serena meet them, so perhaps it is a sign of long awaited maturity. 

“He’s from Holby City, too,” Ellie says. “What are the odds?”

Serena doesn’t point out that her daughter’s university is less than an hour away, that the odds are actually pretty good. Maths has never been the way to win Ellie over. 

“He can stay in the spare room,” Serena says.

“He can stay at his mum’s house, or his dad’s,” Ellie says. “Also, there’s no point in pretending we don’t have sex.” 

The boy is not Ellie’s usual type. He’s thin, dark, moody. He’s pre-med, which Serena doesn’t hate though any time they talk too much about his classes, Ellie lets out a long exasperated sigh. 

“Both my parents are doctors,” he says. 

“Both of hers are, too,” Serena says. “But she wants to study French.” 

“It’s not for everyone,” he says. 

“Cam,” Ellie says. “We have to go.”

Christmas Eve with his side, the day of with Serena. That’s the arrangement they have agreed upon. 

“Do you want a lift?” Serena asks. “I could drive you.”

“We can take a cab,” Ellie says.

“Don’t waste your money,” Serena says, already grabbing her coat. “I don’t mind.”

Ellie sulks in the backseat, Cam sits up front and directs her on where to go.

“My mum and dad aren’t together anymore,” he says. “But they’re playing nice for the holiday. Pretending for me and my sister that they don’t despise one another.” 

“It’s not an easy task,” Serena says. 

Cam points out the house and Serena rolls to a stop. Ellie is halfway out of the car before Serena can pull on the parking brake. Says, “Bye, Mum,” in a halfhearted way.

Cam turns to her, says, “Thank you, Mrs. Campbell.”

“Serena is fine,” she says. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

She idles on the curb while they walk up to the house and knock on the door. She waits until the door opens and they go through it. A woman looks out at her, tall and fair. Gives her a little wave.

Serena waves back, drives away.

 

_-v._

Bernie sees it on the hospital notice board, a handmade flyer that had been xeroxed in black and white. Someone on AAU is looking to rent a room in their house to a hospital employee. The house is close to the hospital though a bit far to be called walking distance. Bernie wouldn’t mind that. Close but not _too_ close.

She’s been a locum here for about six weeks, but hasn’t ventured much outside of Keller. She feels a little fragile out of the military, a little stupid. She’d finally come home like Marcus had wanted only to find that she can’t live with him. 

It’s Marcus, actually, who suggests the split and it’s a relief she’s not known before. She agrees. It’s as amicable as can be expected. She harbours some resentment - she’d upended her career after all, but maybe she’s too old to go back anyway. Her knees get sore during cold desert nights and she’s tired of the travel and the heavy packs and the boots and the plane rides. She’s fifty, now, after all. The army is a young person’s scene in many ways. 

And maybe she had to give up one thing to get out of the other. A hefty price, but she can afford it after all.

Marcus calls a friend at Holby and puts in a word for her and she gets the locum position.

“Best not to work at the same hospital, don’t you think?” he’d said. She’d agreed. Amicable, see?

She pulls the thumbtack out of the flyer and sticks it into a reminder to get a flu jab from last winter. Folds up the flyer and tucks it into the pocket of her scrubs for further consideration later.

She’s still in the hotel because the house had belonged to Marcus’s mother and it seemed wrong to demand that he leave it or sell it. Marcus had offered to buy her out of it but she’d told him no, that perhaps he could help her with the hotel bill until she founds something permanent. All so amicable. 

Later, sitting in her car, she looks at the flyer more closely. It says to email Serena Campbell.

Bernie knows who that is. They’ve not officially met - she always declines invitations to the local watering hole and they’ve just not crossed paths professionally, yet. Bernie thinks she knows who it is, though, could put a face to the name if pressed. The woman with the short hair. Bernie is almost certain. 

Maybe she’ll go introduce herself, she thinks, tomorrow. God, it’s agony, the very thought. Bernie hates meeting new people. Is bad at small talk and not great at fabricating reasons for things. It’s not like she can just admit that she’s scoping Serena out to make sure she isn’t crazy.

Maybe she won’t introduce herself. Maybe she’ll just send an email and try to gauge everything by Serena’s response. 

Yes, that’s what she’ll do. Non-confrontational. She’ll write the email when she gets back to her hotel room, she’ll peck it out on her little mobile. 

She starts the car.

oooo

She’s just coming out of theatre when Serena comes and finds her. Literally just, still pushing out of the theatre doors and pulling off her surgical gown and bloody gloves. 

Serena is standing, waiting for her.

“So you’re the ice queen of Keller I’ve been hearing so much about,” Serena says. 

Bernie freezes, stunned into silence. She must look like a deer caught in the headlights because Serena holds up a piece of paper. Bernie’s email, printed out.

“You could have just come down to AAU and spoken to me about it,” Serena says.

Bernie tries to recover. She pulls off her surgical cap and says, “The notice said to email.”

“Well,” Serena says. “I thought it’d be all F1s and power hungry junior doctors! I didn’t want them all crowding my door at once.”

Bernie lifts one shoulder. 

“You’re the army doctor, right?” Serena says. “You are Berenice Wolfe?”

“I am,” she says. “Ice queen is new.”

“Not my nickname,” Serena says dismissively. “People are calling you unapproachable, that’s all. You don’t socialize.”

“I’m not… very good at it, I’m afraid,” Bernie says. 

“Why don’t we meet after shift,” Serena says. “You know where my office is? My ward?”

“I do,” she says. 

“We can have a chat,” Serena says, smiling. “If you’re actually interested.” 

“All right,” she says. 

Serena steps toward her, extends her hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Berenice.” 

Bernie takes the hand and shakes it. Serena’s hand is soft and warm.

“It’s… uh, it’s Bernie.” 

Serena smiles. “If you say so.” 

oooo

She changes out of her scrubs before she goes to meet Serena. She has to wait for someone to buzz her into the ward which is embarrassing because they then point to her badge and key card and say “That would’ve worked.”

She hadn’t even thought to try. 

So she’s all afluster by the time she finds Serena in her office.

“Ah, Bernie,” she says pleasantly enough. “Come in. Close the door, have a seat.”

Bernie does these things, dropping her purse to the floor and hanging her coat over the back of the offered chair before sitting. 

“So,” Serena says. “I hear you’re a trauma surgeon.”

“In another life,” Bernie says. 

“And they have you up on Keller doing routine, general surgery?” she asks. “Why?”

“I took the position that was available,” she says. “I’m just a locum, so…”

“I spoke to Mr. Hanssen,” Serena says. “He seems eager to offer you a permanent contract on Keller.” 

Bernie is surprised because it’s not a discussion she’s had with anyone herself; she’d not floated the idea at all, or asked anyone about it. Has been sort of just drifting along, waiting for life to happen to her. She’d figured that if they want her permanently, at some point someone will say something about it to her. 

“That’s flattering to hear I suppose,” she says. 

“Would you take it?” Serena asks. 

“I think I would,” Bernie says. “I like it here well enough.” 

“So you’re not looking for temporary lodgings?” Serena asks. 

“Oh!” Bernie says. “That’s what I’m in now but I’d like something more settled. If you’re looking for a month to month renter I could do that or if you wanted a year lease, that would be okay too, I guess.” 

“What do you want?” Serena asks, laughter in her voice.

“I want… to see it first, I think.” Bernie squints nervously. “Would that be okay?”

“Yes,” Serena says. “That would be just fine. Now?”

“Now?” Bernie asks. 

“I could fix dinner. We could get to know one another. Unless you have plans?”

Bernie shakes her head. “Now it is.”

oooo

Bernie follows Serena’s car and parks outside the house on the street. It’s bigger than she imagined it would be and no one else seems to be home. Serena answers the question without Bernie having to ask.

“I have a daughter at University and am divorced,” she says. “So it’s just me. I have a nephew who visits sometimes, but otherwise I just rattle around in here.”

She unlocks the door, lets them in and starts turning on lamps. It’s a nice house, nicer than what she came from. She looks around, follows Serena through the dining room, the kitchen, peers out at the garden though it’s too dark to see much. 

“Let me just… get dinner started and then I’ll show you upstairs. Can I get you a glass of wine?”

Bernie agrees. Serena points her to the wine cupboard and tells her where the glasses are and lets her uncork the bottle and pour the glasses while she turns on the oven and pulls things out of the refrigerator. She seems as comfortable in the kitchen as she would be in the theater. 

Bernie thinks she might like Serena. She’s no nonsense, practical, rather funny and even easy on the eyes. Bernie hopes she doesn’t screw this up. 

Once things are in the oven, they carry their wine up the stairs. Serena points to a closed door and says, “My room.” They see the loo and her daughter’s room and then the guest room which would be Bernie’s.

“I have my own bathroom so we wouldn’t have to share,” Serena says, while Bernie looks around the room. There’s a bed and a chest of drawers so she wouldn’t have to buy furniture. It’s not huge, but it would be fine. “What do you think?”

Bernie nods at her. “Sure.”

“Sure it’s okay? Sure you’ll take it?”

“Can’t argue with the price or the location,” Bernie says. “If you think you can stand me…”

“Stand you? I’m so relieved! I thought I’d have to rent it to a twenty-two year old! You’re the find of the century!” Serena laughs. “You can move in tomorrow if you want, I won’t even start charging you until next month.”

“Well I work tomorrow,” Bernie says. “But I’m off Saturday. Would that work?”

Serena beams at her. “It would.”

oooo

Serena offers to help her move but also seems happy enough when Bernie declines.

“I honestly don’t have much,” she says apologetically. Over dinner she’d filled in Serena a little about her life since coming back to Holby. Her retirement from active duty, her marriage dissolving out from under her. She’d admitted that the relationship had only worked in theory, not practice and her military career had hid that for a long time.

“Did it really, though?” Serena had asked. 

Bernie can fit everything in her car in one trip. Her boot is filled with clothes and shoes and she has a single cardboard box with miscellany. There’s more she could have, possibly, if she wanted to go to the house and stake any claim. Maybe someday she’ll want that. Pictures of the kids when they were little. Wedding gifts that had come to them both. There’s three televisions in that house, she could probably leave with one if she truly wanted to but she’s just so happy enough to be out of there that the things she left behind lose their value. Nothing is worth going back for.

She just can’t be that person anymore. A man’s wife. She can’t sleep in that bed next to him, terrified he’ll roll over and try to put his hands on her. 

Serena gave her a key that night, so she unlocks the door and feels a little like she shouldn’t be there at all. Serena’s at work and Bernie thinks it’s just to stay out of her way but she carries in the box and then the two bags from the boot - one clothes and the other shoes and then she’s done. 

She fritters away another hour unpacking her clothes and hanging them or folding them. She leaves the box untouched. 

There are sheets on the bed, plain white, and two pillows. Maybe she’ll go and buy some bedding things, an alarm clock for the little nightstand. A print for the wall.

She’s just trying to talk herself into these things when her phone rings. 

They’re short someone, could she possibly come into work?

“Yes,” she says. _Thank god_ , she thinks.

oooo

It is in her nature to hide away in her room, to sneak out only when she absolutely has to. Work, or food, or the loo. But Serena ignores that, comes home, calls for her up the stairs. Or knocks on her door, opens it, invites her down to eat dinner or watch the television or did she want to hear what happened on Darwin today? Serena had gotten the gossip straight from Mo Effanga so it was pure and verified. 

It becomes not uncommon to spend the evening with Serena making a meal or eating ice cream or watching a movie in their sweats. Serena tends to come home after Bernie because she stops for a glass of wine at Albie’s first.

“You could come,” Serena says once. “We could go together.”

“I don’t know,” Bernie had said.

“They’re not all bad people. I mean some yes, but some are all right. They ask about you, you know.”

“Why?” she’d asked.

“Because I talk about you!” Serena had said, laughing. 

Bernie had promised to consider it. 

She has to give in because Sacha’s birthday comes round and he insists, bringing it up over and over again all day, that Bernie must come.

“Serena is going,” Essie says, waggling her eyebrows. 

It’s not a secret that Bernie has moved into Ms. Campbell’s spare room so she doesn’t know what Essie is on about.

“One drink,” Bernie says. “Only because it’s your birthday.”

Sacha grins, pleased. 

She spends the rest of the shift trying to figure out how she’s going to get out of it. Is changing into her street clothes much more slowly than usual when Serena appears in the locker room with her coat on and her purse on her shoulder.

“Well get a wiggle on!” she says.

“What are you doing here?” Bernie asks.

“I’ve been tasked in making sure you don’t flake out,” Serena says. 

“I… wasn’t going to,” Bernie mutters.

“Liar,” Serena says. 

She really does know most people there by this point just from working in the same hospital but this is the first time they’ve seen her socially. Everyone gravitates around Serena and she holds court, flirting and joking and laughing and all Bernie can do is drink down her wine and watch her. 

Dom sits next to her at one point, hands her a bottle of beer. 

“I don’t mind buying rounds, but everyone has to drink what I like drinking,” he explains. 

“Thanks,” she murmurs taking the bottle.

“You know, you’re going to stare a hole in her if you’re not careful,” Dom says teasingly.

Bernie looks down at her beer bottle. Pretends to not know what he means. “What?”

“Serena Campbell,” he says, drawing her name out. “Many a men have tried but none have succeeded.” 

She works at the damp label of the beer bottle with her thumbnail. 

“Some say she swings both ways so you might have a shot, you know,” he offers. “If rumours are to be believed.”

“She’s my friend and I’m not like… that.”

“Oh come now, Ms. Wolfe,” Dom says. “Let us not sully this bar with lies.” 

She looks at him; her face must be a picture of agony because he rolls his eyes.

“I’m sorry my gaydar is so good, it’s a gift and a curse, all right?”

“Please don’t tell anyone.”

“I’m not in the habit of outing people,” he says. “But thank you for thinking so little of me.”

“I didn’t mean… I just… I’ve never…” She shakes her head. “I was married, you know.”

“To a man?” Dom asks. She nods. “Bummer.” 

“I wouldn’t even know how to go about… and anyway, I rent a room in her house so that would be a disaster.” 

“Yeah but look at her,” Dom says. Serena is laughing, reaches out to swat at the birthday boy who falls to blushes under her attentions. “If I were into women who could be my mum, that’s the tree I’d bark up.”

“You’re truly awful,” she says. 

“Well if you ever want to talk about it,” Dom says. “I like to go up to the roof and sulk. You could always come sulk with me. Talk about light wash jeans or Tori Amos or Last Tango in Halifax. Whatever it is that you lot like.” 

Bernie laughs. “That was a good show.”

He sighs, hunches over on his bar stool and looks supremely bored. “I wouldn’t know.” 

oooo

They start caravaning to work together. It doesn’t always work because their schedules aren’t identical but it works most days. They mostly take Bernie’s car if the weather isn’t awful but sometimes Serena’s if it’s sloshing down rain. 

She frets for several days about Dom knowing about her secret persuasions but nothing bad happens and actually she starts to feel a little lighter for it. It had been nice to talk about it, a little. Talk around it. Be talked at about it. Whatever. 

She reasons with herself that she’s not really a lesbian or bisexual or whatever because she’s never even done so much as kissed a woman. Just thinking you might like something doesn’t make you any certain way. She thinks she might like a holiday to the Amalfi Coast, it doesn’t make her an Italian. But it’s hard to deny that living with Serena gives her a certain intimacy that no one else can boast of and she carries that around with her like a warm ember in her chest. 

It doesn’t take long for Serena to start calling her a friend as opposed to a work colleague or housemate. Once, at the bar, she introduces Bernie to someone as “My Bernie” and then laughs and corrects herself. 

Bernie glows for days.

During one of their roof sessions, Dom listens to her talk about Serena for nine minutes of their fifteen minute break and then pulls his hood over his head, draws the drawstring up tight so just his nose is visible and then screams into the cotton. 

“What?” Bernie says.

He comes out of his hood and says, “Please kiss her.” 

“Oh,” Bernie says. “No. Ha! No, I couldn’t.”

“I can’t listen to you pine anymore, I’ll go barking mad.”

“I’m not _pining_!” She was. “I’m just… talking about my day.” 

“All right well I’m going downstairs to have a poo. I’ll see you on the ward,” he says. 

“Charming,” she mutters.

She sits for a few more minutes in the sunshine, alone. Thinks about what kissing Serena might be like. Soft and lovely, probably. Exquisite and life-changing. So, so hot.

She squirms and says, “Shit.”

Goes back inside.

oooo

You know what? Maybe she _will_ kiss Serena.

oooo

She doesn’t kiss Serena. 

She almost does, once. They’re at home, sitting side by side on the sofa. Serena’s nephew Jason had been over for dinner and had only just left and it had been a good night. Bernie likes Jason and Jason her and that makes Serena nervousness about having him over dissipate. She’s in a bubbly mood.

When Jason leaves, they resume their spots next to one another on the sofa even though Jason is no longer there to occupy the armchair which is where Bernie usually sits. 

Serena puts the throw blanket back over their laps and turns to look at her, says, “Thank you so much for taking an interest in Jason.”

A long moment stretches out where Bernie offers a little smile and they stare at one another and she sees, she thinks, Serena’s gaze flicker down to her mouth and she could do it, she could do it now. Just lean in and close the gap.

But she’s a coward. 

So she doesn’t.

oooo

It’s thundering so loud that no one could sleep through it. There’s flashes of lighting, too, that unsettle her so she sits up in her bed and turns on the little lamp. The room is awash in the yellow glow of the little bulb but it’s enough that the lightning doesn’t flash through the room like a migraine edging in on her peripheral vision. 

She reads, her back against her pillows for about half an hour before Serena knocks on her door and opens it.

“I saw your light on,” Serena says.

“It’s late,” Bernie points out. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Could you sleep through this racket?” Serena asks, edging in a little. 

“Clearly not,” Bernie says. She pats the side of her bed. “Something on your mind?”

Serena seems relieved at the invitation, comes right over and mirror’s Bernie’s cross-legged pose. Back against a pillow, blankets over her lap. Their knees touch. 

“What are you going to do about Christmas?” Serena asks like it’s a delicate topic that has been weighing heavy on her mind.

“It’s only November, Serena.”

“It’s mid-November,” she say back.

“Well, I hadn’t… I think I’ll probably volunteer to work,” Bernie says. “Let the kids spend it with their father without guilt.” 

Serena looks at her sadly. “You could spend it with me.”

“What of Elinor? Jason?”

“Them, too,” Serena says. 

“We can play it by ear,” Bernie says. “I can’t work all 24 hours of the day, anyhow. Is that what you’re upset about? Christmas?”

“Are you going to move out?” Serena blurts.

“What?”

“I mean… is that something you think about? Leaving?” she presses.

“No, unless you’re trying to tell me something,” Bernie says. “Shall I start looking for my own flat?”

“No!” Serena says. “I’m so happy with you here.” She sags a little. “Are you happy?”

“Quite content here with you,” Bernie says. 

“Good,” Serena whispers, closing her eyes. “Good.”

“It’s been a very long time since I’ve had a real friend,” Bernie admits. “You know, like… a best friend. Sorry, god, I’m stupid, sorry.”

“Not stupid,” Serena says. “I feel the same. I feel… I’m not sure I’ve ever… because you’re…”

Serena fails at what she’s saying. Bernie’s sure that Serena is looking at her mouth now. She closes the book, losing her place, and tosses it aside. Turns to face her and Serena does too and Bernie reaches out and takes one of Serena’s hands in hers.

“Serena,” she says carefully. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Me either,” Serena says. “I mean, if we’re both talking about the same thing, here.” Serena’s hand twitches between Bernie’s. “Aren’t we?”

Bernie can practically hear Dom in her head screaming to kiss her. She’s been spending too much time up on that roof. Or maybe the fresh air has done her some good because for the first time, kissing Serena seems not an impossible task but an inevitability. She leans in a little.

Serena leans in too, less gracefully but certainly not lacking in enthusiasm. 

It’s a chaste kiss by normal standards but a big step for Bernie. 

When she pulls back to look at Serena, Serena is grinning with her eyes still closed. 

 

_+i._

Bernie watches her for a moment, chuckling to herself. Who is that? She shouldn’t get involved in this new life. She should keep to herself, not bother to meet new people. She’s going to make a go of it, sure, but is she really going to stay here? At this hospital?

Still. She obviously needs some assistance. 

“Engine been growling or whining?” she calls.

The woman turns to look over at her. 

_Oh no_ , Bernie thinks to herself. _Oh no_.


	15. i just wanna keep calling your name until you come back home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ashdo asked for: _I don't know if you're still taking berena prompts, but your writing is absolutely amazing so I thought I'd try and ask! Pea-green and I were talking about this fic idea and we would DIE if you somehow ever wrote something like this : basically, Serena starts experimenting with women after Bernie says to keep it confined to theatre, and Bernie slowly dies inside…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like, i'm literally just writing whatever i want now. canon, what canon, etc...

Serena goes to Albie’s specifically to talk to Dominic Copeland. She comes here all the time but feels strange coming with an errand other than wine. She’ll have wine, of course. But really, she’s here for Dom. He’s sitting with Zosia and Jasmine Burrows and she feels old, so very old walking up to them.

“Dr. Copeland,” she says. 

He looks up with surprise and a touch of fear which is sort of satisfying. She likes when people are just a little scared of her. 

“Ms. Campbell,” he says. “How are you?”

“Fine, fine,” she says. “Dr. March. Dr. Burrows.”

Jasmine waves and Zosia nods. They all stare at her, back at Dom and then to her again. 

“Say, Dr. Copeland, might I have a moment to bend your ear?” she asks. He nods. “In private?”

“Oh,” he says. “Uh. Okay.” Stands up, holding his beer bottle. “We could go, um…” He looks around. “Over there?” He points to a slightly less crowded part of the bar, populated mostly by ambulance drivers. Short of leaving, it’s probably the best they’re going to get. There’s no available table, so they find a free bit of wall space and tuck themselves against it. He looks at her expectantly.

“So,” Serena says. “You’re...gay.”

His eyes, quite slowly, grow very large. 

“Um,” he manages finally. “Yes.” 

“And that started… quite young, did it not?” she asks. 

“Uhhhh,” he says. “I’m sorry, what are we talking about?”

She shakes her head, waves her hand in front of her face. “Okay, this is going badly, let’s start again.”

“Please, let’s do,” he says. 

“If I were interested in meeting new people,” she says. “People of my own gender. For, um, for dating, how would one go about that? In this… this modern day of age?”

She wishes he would stop gaping at her, it’s certainly not helping her confidence - already slight - any. 

“You want to date girls?” he asks. 

“Women,” she says. “I’m not a cougar.” 

And here, they must hit his limit because he starts to laugh. Really laugh. The way one laughs at something so absurd that there’s no other logical reaction except laughter. It stings a bit.

“Oh never mind,” she says, wounded and turns to leave.

“No,” he gasps. “No I’m sorry, wait, wait.” He reaches out, holds onto her elbow. 

“You don’t have to laugh at me,” she says churlishly.

“I’m not,” he says trying to contain himself. “I’m just... “ He clears his throat, makes himself look more somber. “Sorry.” 

“Well?” she demands.

“Oh! Right, uh, I guess… probably a dating app?” he says. “Or a website, but those all seem a bit clunky what with the apps now.” 

“An app,” she says. “Which one?”

“Um, well I’m sort of on the other side of the… you know. My apps are not your apps, specifically.”

“True,” she says. 

“You know I’ve always thought you were… well, never mind,” he says.

“What?” she says.

“A lesbian,” he says. “Well no, not exactly… it’s just that you always flirted with everyone. Equally.” He shrugs. “You’ve never dated a woman before?”

“Okay thank you Dr. Copeland, most illuminating, I’ll be off now,” she says.

“Sorry,” he says again. She turns to go. “Wait!” he says. “What about Ms. Wolfe?”

Serena stills, braces for hurt. 

“What about her?” Serena asks coolly.

“Well, she’d know which app. Ask her,” he says. 

She breathes out again. “Thank you for your discretion in this matter.” 

He pulls a face. “Ugh. Fine.” 

oooo

Bernie had made it quite clear that their kiss had been a one off, a rash choice at the end of a heated moment. Though both had seemed to enjoy it immensely and for several long minutes, it was not to be repeated. That was certainly Bernie’s choice to make, no matter how Serena longs for another chance. But Bernie’s friendship is important to her, she understands the impulse to keep it safe and not ruin it chasing something more.

Even if the something more is electrifying. 

The problem here is, the can of worms has been well and truly opened. Dom had been right, she does flirt with everyone. It had just never truly occurred to her to take flirting to the next level when it comes to the fairer sex. It’s not that she’d never thought about it… kissing another woman, but not… not _seriously_ and certainly not about the bits that might possibly come after. 

But after Bernie, now, she thinks a lot about what could happen next. Never has she spent so much time on creating elaborate fantasies before. What they might be wearing, where they might be, who would give in first. It’s more satisfying to imagine Bernie breaking her own rule and kissing Serena again. Serena likes the idea of being irresistible. Perhaps it is not realistic but it is her own fantasy, after all. 

At night, in bed, she imagines Bernie is there with her. She pretends it’s Bernie’s hands on her, imagines quite aggressively the weight of Bernie’s long, slim body between her legs. Her mouth on Serena’s mouth, her mouth on other places.

Serena’s become very adept at coming quietly, hips frantic in an otherwise empty bed. 

It’s pathetic. She hates herself. 

So the Bernie bit is no longer part of the equation, it doesn’t mean she has to be alone forever. That had been her plan since Edward had left because she doesn’t want another man. She’d tried with Robbie, against her better judgement, because she’d gotten lonely, but now. Now there’s a whole new playing field for her to conquer. 

And she’s going to conquer it. 

She downloads the first app that the app store recommends and spends nearly an hour inputting her details. Flags down Jason to take her picture and makes him take it seventeen times before she has something she can live with. She changes her blouse twice. Finally Jason says, “Auntie Serena, _please_ ,” and declares number fourteen the best. He’s not a liar, so she uses number fourteen.

Puts out her profile for all to see and goes to bed.

oooo

The relationship she has with Bernie now is still good, still important, but with a particular undercurrent of strain. She has to try slightly harder now than she had to before. She has to hold herself back a little. It’s a shame. 

Serena comes into her office still in scrubs, straight out of theatre. She’s expecting an email and wants to see if it’s arrived before she changes. Bernie’s at her desk, smiles briefly at her and says, “Your phone has been making a most peculiar noise.”

It’s plugged into the charger, sitting on her desk. 

“Like what, like texts?” she asks.

“No, I’ve heard your text noise, that goes whoosh. This is like a… like a little bell ringing, maybe.” Bernie says.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Serena says, picking it up. “You could have put it onto silent, I wouldn’t have minded.” 

“Not a disturbance,” Bernie reassures her.

Serena pushes the button and peers down at the screen. Realizes that the sound Bernie has heard is the new dating app notifying her that she’s had a match. She’s still getting the hang of the thing. She’s had it for a couple days now. The first day she’d had to go in and adjust her preferences for ages because everyone who wanted to talk to her was in their thirties and it seemed just too young. She still doesn’t know what those women would want from her. She’d put 51 right there out in the open for all to see. 

There are a few people she’s having light conversation with. She dismisses a few right away. Sees that a woman she’s been chatting with has asked her out for a drink.

“Everything okay?” Bernie asks, unable to keep the lid on her curiosity any longer.

“Oh it’s just… it’s nothing, it’s so silly,” Serena says. She realizes she can’t tell Bernie about it without bringing up the theatre incident and they’ve been careful not to approach that since Bernie had said to keep it confined. But there’s something sad about that realization because Bernie is her best friend and she doesn’t like that there are things they can’t talk about now.

“You can tell me anything, Serena,” Bernie says. So earnest, so lovely. Serena frets for a moment and then decides that if their friendship is going to survive this awkward time, lying about things is out of the question.

“Okay, this is embarrassing,” Serena says, sitting down. She feels out of sorts in her scrubs. No earrings. Bare arms. “I joined a dating app.”

“You’ve… you’re… dating,” Bernie says. 

“I’ve only been on it a few days,” Serena says. “So the dinging was…”

“A line of men down the street, say no more,” Bernie says, looking back at her screen.

Serena clears her throat, looks at the grimy linoleum on the floor, the clock on the wall always three minutes slow, back to Bernie.

“Not… not men,” Bernie says because she’s the smartest person in the room, after all. 

Serena shakes her head. “No.” 

“I…” Bernie tries but can’t seem to move past that. Her mouth hangs open. 

Serena flushes with guilt but the guilt also makes her mad and defensive. “You said you wanted-”

“I did,” Bernie agrees. She shakes her head. “I think that’s great.” 

“Do you?” Serena says softly. 

“Absolutely,” Bernie says. She forces a smile, stands up. “I’m going to take my dinner break.” 

The next time she sees Bernie, Bernie won’t meet her eyes.

oooo

Elizabeth is 44, a school teacher, arrives to the pub four minutes after their agreed upon time looking a bit flustered. She’s a little shorter than Serena and her blonde hair falls past her shoulders. She’s wearing jeans and a black shirt, a denim jacket over that and has a huge purse. 

“Serena?” she says. 

“Guilty,” Serena says standing. What are they supposed to do? Shake hands? She’s a perfect stranger, should they hug? Elizabeth takes the seat opposite Serena at the small table and saves Serena from having to figure it out. She sinks back down. 

“Sorry, parking was a nightmare,” she says. “You look just like your picture.”

“Oh,” Serena says. “Isn’t that the point?”

“One would think,” she says. “Not always the case.”

Elizabeth speaks passionately and eloquently about her job, teaching seven-year-olds, about her political beliefs (slightly left of Serena, though overall highly compatible), about her son (a ten-year-old called Harris), and is interesting and makes Serena laugh more than once.

But Serena does not want to kiss her. 

She listens to Serena talk about the hospital, about Jason and Elinor, about how this is all a bit new for her. She doesn’t talk at all about Bernie. 

There’s nothing wrong with Elizabeth - in fact, she would make a lovely friend, but there’s no chemistry. Elizabeth kisses her cheek, they exchange numbers, but Serena will text later that maybe she’s not ready for real dates and then they text for a few weeks about the plot of Call the Midwife and eventually that peters out to not texting at all, which is fine. 

oooo

Susanna is 57, lists her profession as an artist. She shows up to a morning coffee date on a Sunday in black overalls and her blonde hair piled up into a knot on her head. She wears reading glasses to peer down at the menu, has chipped purple nail polish and the loudest laugh Serena has ever heard. 

On their second date, Serena kisses her in the car. It’s very nice.

On their third date, Serena comes to Susanna’s house to meet her cocker spaniel Tallulah and see her studio. The paintings are nice enough, though nothing makes Serena’s heart sing at the sight of them. Landscapes and florals, a few indulgent self portraits. Susanna alludes to selling some but it seems like her money comes from somewhere else. And as Serena moves through her house, she can see signs of money everywhere. Expensive furnishing and appliances, a Range Rover parked out front. 

Susanna kisses her again in the kitchen, pushing Serena’s body up against the island with a butcher block countertop. 

Again the kisses are soft and warm and fine, but when Serena tries to picture what might come next, all she can see is a void. There’s nothing wrong with Susanna - her carefree and cushy life, drenched in buttery sunlight and smelling slightly of turpentine. It’s also simply not right. 

Serena begs out of their arranged lunch date with a sudden headache. Calls her the next day and breaks it off.

Susanna, clearly not used to not having her way, shows up on Serena’s ward with flowers. 

Raf and Fletch watch the exchange with horrified expressions. Serena tries not to accept them, but when that fails, shuffles the scene into her office where she can shut the door and the blinds.

“I’m sorry,” she says again. “You’re lovely but I’m just not right for you.” 

Finally, she manages to get Susanna to leave. 

Bernie’s at the nurse’s station and watches Serena walk Susanna to the elevator and send her away. 

“Friend?” Bernie asks lightly. 

“Um,” Serena says.

Bernie trails her into the office. 

“Raf was insistent I wait out there,” Bernie says. “Everything all right?”

“All right now,” Serena murmurs.

“That’s a lovely bouquet,” Bernie says but there’s a hardness to her voice that Serena has heard before, though not often directed at her. 

“Perhaps we can get Lou to break it up, spread it out among the ward. Cheer up the place a bit,” Serena says, 

Bernie stares her down for a moment, but something must satisfy her because she nods and says, “I’ll see that it gets done for you.” 

Serena exhales. “Thanks.” 

oooo

She has drinks with Barbara, 49, blonde. High tea with Mary, 61, strawberry blonde. Wine and appetizers with Colleen, 45, blonde. 

Thinks about deleting the app because all these first dates are exhausting and nothing ever feels quite right. But she doesn't. She just starts accepting less offers. Scrolls through the profiles the app suggests for her, dismissing six women in a row before shutting it off and tossing the phone aside. 

She gets matched with a woman called Cheryl and they text for awhile. She seems smart and nice. She’s a redhead, which initially is a turnoff but they have enough screen chemistry that Serena agrees to have drinks. 

Cheryl cancels a few hours before, with profuse apologies and they reschedule for later in the week. 

Serena is the one to cancel next because the red phone has rung and there’s a multi-car pile up headed for the hospital. Serena explains that she’s a surgeon and that she’ll be in theatre for most of the night. 

They're in the calm before the storm hits and Bernie sees her texting in the locker room. They’re changing into scrubs. 

“Jason?” Bernie asks.

“Canceling a date,” Serena says. “No way I’ll make it now.”

Bernie slams her locker door closed, tucks her id card and lanyard under her scrub top and says, “She’ll understand saving a life, won’t she?”

“If she doesn’t, this will never work,” Serena says. 

Bernie doesn’t wait for her. Leaves her to finish up alone. 

oooo

Finally Cheryl asks where the hospital is, maybe they can meet for a quick after work drink. Says hospitals always have bars nearby, right? Serena is hesitant but finally agrees because there’s been so much back and forth, so much build up that she just wants to get it over with. Almost hopes that the whole thing falls apart in person because then at least she’d know. 

Cheryl is an inch or two taller than her and 51, just like Serena. Their birthdays are weeks apart, they find. Serena has reservations about taking her to Albie's but Bernie’s still on shift for another hour and if it goes well, Serena can always suggest drinks turn into dinner and they’ll go somewhere else. 

Serena secures a tucked away table, orders two glasses of wine. 

Cheryl manages to be on time, kisses Serena’s cheek and says, “Look at this! We did it! A miracle!”

She’s very pretty, lines in her face but big dark eyes. She has beautiful dark, ginger hair and when Serena compliments it, Cheryl rolls her eyes and says, “Fake. I’m actually… actually, I’m a blonde but I always thought I looked a bit washed out that way.” 

There are things about Cheryl that Serena can already tell would drive her absolutely bananas in the long run, but there’s no denying the chemistry that crackles between them.

“Are you hungry?” Cheryl asks before Serena gets the chance, though she has been thinking the same thing.

“I could eat,” Serena says, feeling warm and full of wine. 

They decide on Serena’s car, and Cheryl kisses her before she even gets her seat belt on. 

Serena flushes with heat, opens her mouth, kisses her back until the loud rev of an engine distracts her. She turns her head just in time to see a very familiar convertible gunning by her parked car. 

“Um,” Serena says, feeling guilty even though she hasn’t done a thing wrong. “Dinner?”

“Sure,” Cheryl says. “Let’s do it.”

oooo

Bernie is certainly in a snit today. She’s barking at the staff, short with patients, quiet and sulky when they’re in the office together. Finally after Bernie reduces Morven to tears over an illegible note on a chart, Serena says, “Ms. Wolfe, with me, please.”

“I’m busy,” Bernie mumbles, scanning the room for an escape.

“We are going out to get some air, right now,” Serena says. It’s the voice she reserves for cocky first year doctors and snotty children. Bernie wilts slightly, works her jaw from behind her tightly closed mouth but nods her concession. 

They’re too busy to go to the roof so they head down to the ground level and slip out of a side door to the metal stairs they’ve sat on before. Serena points and Bernie sits, easing herself down onto the uncomfortably cold metal step.

“Listen,” Serena says. “We all have off days.”

Bernie shakes her head, holds up her hand. “Stop taking it out on the staff, you’re right, I’m sorry. That’s… unforgivable of me.”

“I think it might do them good to have a day where you’re the bad boss instead of me,” Serena says. “But you made Morven cry.” 

Bernie looks stricken at that, hangs her head, hiding behind her pale fringe. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles. 

“What set you off?” Serena asks. “We could talk about it if you-”

“Don’t,” she says, standing. “Just don’t, Serena.” 

“Hey!” Serena says, as Bernie starts to go inside. “What has gotten into you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bernie says, standing with the door open. “Forget it.” 

“Is this about... “ Serena crosses her arms tightly against her body. “Is this about last night?”

Bernie’s face goes blank, she turns to look over her shoulder and lets go of the door. It clangs closed again. 

“I saw your car,” Serena says.

“Hard to believe you could’ve seen anything with your tongue down her throat,” Bernie says. 

Serena sputters. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business!”

Bernie shrugs. “It’s not.” 

“No,” Serena says. “It isn’t.” 

“Glad we got that sorted,” Bernie says. 

The door bangs behind her.

oooo

She meets Cheryl for lunch the next day at the sandwich shop that’s part way between the hospital and the office building where Cheryl works in accounting. 

Serena’s been busy at work and feels out of sorts after her fight with Bernie. She’s never really had a fight with Bernie before. They’ve had rocky moments but nothing like this. Now they’re barely speaking and Serena should’ve canceled this lunch date but it’s not Cheryl’s fault, really.

Still, it doesn’t take long for her to say, “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Serena says. “Sorry. Just… distracted, a little today.” 

“Mmmhmmm,” Cheryl says. “Why don’t you tell me about her?” 

“I… what?” Serena asks.

“I’ve been the rebound before, it’s okay,” she says. “Not my ultimate goal but I get it.” 

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like you were a rebound,” Serena says. “There was barely even anything to rebound from. She… she didn’t want me, so…”

“Okay, start from the beginning,” Cheryl says. “Because I feel like that can’t possibly be the case.” 

Serena smiles at the compliment and then takes her up on the offer. Tells her about Bernie, about their friendship, about the way Bernie had kissed her and then had come around to say she didn’t want to do it again.

“That’s not what she said,” Cheryl says pointing at Serena with her fork. 

“It’s basically what she said,” Serena says. 

“Um,” Cheryl says. “No. All I’m hearing is that you seemed frightened and she didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I wasn’t frightened like I wanted to pretend it never happened I was just out of my depth! She’s my best friend!” Serena says.

“Did you tell her that?” Cheryl asks. 

Serena looks at her wrist watch. “Gosh, look at the time.”

“Serena,” Cheryl says. “I think you’re so, so lovely and quite pretty and it’s a shame I can’t see you any longer.” 

“Oh,” Serena says. “Yes, I understand that.”

“Delete the app on your phone and go talk to her.” Cheryl stands, shoulders her purse. “Come on, give us a hug.”

“Sorry,” Serena says, squeezing her. “And thanks.”

oooo

She deletes the app, sitting in her office. 

Bernie comes in, drops a stack of files on her desk, leaves without saying a word. 

Still in a fight, then.

oooo

“Why don’t you go talk to her now,” Jason asks at dinner after Serena has explained that Bernie isn’t speaking to her. “Why do you have to wait until you are at work? That seems the most impractical time to be discussing personal matters.” 

“It’s rude to show up to someone’s home uninvited and without warning,” Serena says. 

“You could call her on the telephone,” he suggests, picking up his plate and carrying it to the sink.

“I’m not sure she’d answer,” Serena frets.

“You’ll just have to try,” he says with finality. 

She goes to her room, sits on the edge of her bed with her phone in hand. 

Bernie answers on the first ring sounding somewhat breathless.

“Hi,” Serena says.

“Hi.”

“Are you home?” 

“Just got in,” Bernie says. “Went for a run.”

Only Bernie would work a full, grueling shift on her feet all day and then go running.

“Jason and I ate dinner and I cleaned up the kitchen. Also a work out,” she jokes.

“Let’s see, roast chicken night?” Bernie says.

“Right you are,” she says. “Good memory.”

Bernie makes a little humming noise. 

“So,” Serena says.

“So,” Bernie echoes.

“About earlier…”

“Come over,” Bernie says. 

“What?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to blurt it out like an order,” she says. “But you should come over. Now, if you’d like.”

She looks at her watch. Half past eight. 

“I don’t even know where you live,” Serena breathes. Because they’re close, but they’ve never… Bernie has been to Serena’s but she’s never been to Bernie’s. 

“I’ll send you the address,” Bernie says. “I'll hop in the shower.”

“Bernie…”

“Please,” she says. 

Serena is helpless to resist that.

“I’m going to Bernie’s for a little while,” she tells Jason.

“That was my original advice,” Jason says. “What changed?”

“I took your advice and called her,” Serena says. “And she invited me over.”

He nods, pleased.

“You’ll be okay here for a bit?” Serena asks.

“Of course,” he says.

“There are those iced biscuits in the pantry if you get peckish,” she says. “I have my phone.” 

She gets a little turned around but finds the building eventually and even a place to park. The lift is creaky and slow as it carries her up and then the hallway poorly lit. It’s not a terrible building but not particularly welcoming.

When she knocks on Bernie’s door, Bernie opens it nearly right away, like she’d just been hovering on the other side. It feels ages ago that they’d fought instead of just hours. Bernie’s hair is still wet, tucked behind her ears and her face is scrubbed so clean it’s shiny. 

“I’m sorry,” Serena blurts before she is even invited in. “About earlier, I’m sorry.” 

Bernie steps aside, waves her in. 

“It’s my fault,” Bernie says, moving toward the little kitchen, leaving Serena standing in the entry. “I’m the one who ought to be apologizing.”

Serena follows her, setting her coat and purse on a chair as she passes. Bernie has tea all ready for them in the tiny kitchen. They both don’t hardly fit and so Serena hesitates in the entryway. Accepts the cup of tea with murmured thanks. 

Bernie folds herself onto the sofa in the living room and Serena perches next to her.

“This is nice,” she says.

“Yes, I’m expecting Architectural Digest around to photograph it any day now,” Bernie says and makes Serena laugh. 

“I pictured it to be worse,” Serena admits.

“I tidied for you,” Bernie says. “Don’t look inside of anything.” 

“Deal,” Serena says. And then, feeling brave by being invited over and bolstered by the warmth of the tea says, “I deleted that dating app today.”

“Did you?” Bernie murmurs from behind her mug. “Seems like it was working out all right for you.”

“It was okay,” Serena says. “They certainly help you to meet people. Not always the right people, maybe.”

“I think more people meet online than not these days,” Bernie says. “I read that somewhere.” 

“It was, at best, a failed experiment,” Serena says. 

“How so?”

“I thought… I could find someone that made me feel like you did but I couldn’t.” Serena rolls her eyes at herself. “I don’t mean to make you feel on the spot.” 

“I thought you didn’t… feel ready for what I was asking of you,” Bernie says, setting her mug down and twisting her body toward Serena. “I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“I thought you didn’t want me,” Serena says, setting her mug next to Bernie’s. 

Bernie reaches for her, uses both her hands to cup Serena’s face and says, “Impossible,” before pulling her in for a kiss.

oooo

It is scary, a little, but after all, Eleanor Roosevelt advised you to do at least one thing a day that scares you. Today, for Serena, that thing is making love to Bernie Wolfe. It’s following her down a narrow hallway to a small bedroom with no previous preparation. She has not plucked and shaved and moisturized. She is not wearing her prettiest bra or matching knickers. She is going in blind. 

She is torn when Bernie doesn’t turn on a light. She’s grateful for the cover of darkness; she is bereft and not being able to see every inch of Bernie’s glorious body bathed in light. Her narrow waist, her smooth, pale skin. The sharp relief of hip bones, the soft curve of bare breasts. 

Bernie whispers that they can go slow, Bernie promises they can stop at any point. Bernie unhooks Serena’s bra with one hand while her teeth work at Serena’s earlobe. Bernie asks if everything she does is okay. Removing Serena’s trousers and knickers in one fell swoop, using her teeth on Serena’s sensitive nipples, sliding her fingers between Serena’s legs. 

Even after the orgasm has claimed her, left her sopping wet and shaking, blissed out and only a little embarrassed that it had happened so fast, Bernie asks if what had happened was okay. 

“Yes,” Serena whispers, pulling Bernie’s damp fingers to her lips and kissing them. “This is definitely going okay.” 

Bernie laughs her great honking laugh.

oooo

“If I ever see that woman you were snogging, I’m going to smack her,” Bernie says, watching Serena get dressed. 

“You ought to thank her,” Serena says. “I told her all about you.”

“Hmmm,” Bernie says. “Still, if she ends up on my theatre table, I might let her die.” 

“No you wouldn’t,” Serena says.

“No,” Bernie agrees. “I suppose not.”


	16. don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked for: _Berena ww1/2 wartime nurses AU!!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please be gentle with me. we have had quite a week over here in the burning pit of fascism and failed democracy.

Sister Bernie Wolfe spends most of the night in the back of a truck, trying to sleep tucked between some crates. She dozes a little at first but the closer they get to the field hospital, the worse the roads are. They have to slow way down to navigate the craters left by bombs and even then it becomes too treacherous to even think of sleeping. They hit a bump once and she knocks her head into a crate and after that, dislodges herself to sit atop it instead of next to it. 

The driver and the surgeon she’s arriving with are up front in the cab. At least she’s alone back here. At least no one is with her to see her rattle around like a coin in a coffee tin. 

As the sky starts to distantly lighten, she can lift the canvas flap and peer out the window at the decimated countryside. She’d come to France once as a girl with her parents and her brothers. She’s not sure if where they’d gone then is anywhere near where she is now, but even still, it looks nothing like the golden, rolling countryside of her memory. Here everything is in ruin. Crumbling buildings, upturned earth. She sees people walking along the side of the road with wooden carts. Leaving or maybe coming back. Hard to say, exactly. 

No one looks up at her as she passes.

She’d spent the last three months at the Royal Hospital Chelsea in London but when they’d asked for more volunteers to go to the front lines, she hadn’t hesitated. Now she has a little ball of worry lodged right up under her ribs. She knows she’s a cracking nurse, she knows she could be more had circumstances allowed, but still, the world outside the little window of this truck is grimmer than any wartime London tableau she’d seen thus far. 

She thinks of Alexandra, the closest thing to a friend she’d left behind in London, saying, “Don’t worry, you won’t see anything besides the inside of a ward anyway.” 

She almost hopes Alexandra was right, feels a slight pang at having left her behind. 

The field hospital is set up in an abandoned school and she’s grateful for it. They could be working in tents. They arrive with the sun and she checks in with the Matron who tells her she has just enough time to eat some breakfast before she’s due on the ward for her shift. 

“You slept on the way, yes?” the Matron asks as they walk briskly toward the dining area, which is in a tent just off what must be the school’s kitchen. 

“Uh,” Bernie says. “Some.”

The Matron glances over at her. “I can see it’d be more ideal to have you on nights but I’m loathe to break up Sisters Williams and McDoughnah. They work well together and they’ve adjusted to the schedule.”

“It’s fine, I’ll get some tea in me and be right as rain,” she promises. 

“Good,” the Matron says. They enter the tent and she’s hit with a smell of stale coffee and eggs. There’s a smattering of people still eating their breakfast and the Matron leads her over to a woman sitting alone at the end of a table.

“Here she is… Sister McKinnie!” 

The woman turns around, looks at the Matron and then at Bernie. Stands up, though she looks a bit knackered. Bernie realizes that almost everyone is in a version of a man’s field uniform and that she’s the only one in her grey and scarlet. She resists the urge to reach up and straighten her veil. 

“This is Sister Wolfe, she’s going to be on the Resus ward with you,” the Matron says. “She’s only just arrived so do try to be gentle with her, Sister.”

That’s all Bernie is left with. The Matron dumps her into the care of this Sister McKinnie and is gone. 

“Well,” Sister McKinnie says. “That uniform will due for today, but it’s not very practical out here on the front lines, I’m afraid.”

“They did issue me a field one, I just haven’t had the chance-”

“It’s all right,” she says. She points to a stack of trays. “Go get something to eat, we don’t have a lot of time.” 

When Bernie comes back, she sits across from Sister McKinnie and tucks into her eggs and her tinned sausage. 

She glances up and realizes that the Sister is watching her with a smirk.

“I’m Serena,” she says. 

Bernie covers her mouth with her hand until she swallows. 

“Berenice,” she says. “But most people call me Bernie.”

oooo

Serena explains that they partner up on the ward and share sleeping quarters at night, so they’d best become fast friends or the whole operation falls apart. 

“Out here there’s no relief and there’s no privacy,” Serena says. “I don’t mind tears and I certainly don’t mind swearing if the situation calls for it, but I cannot abide whining so if you hate something that can’t be helped, keep it to yourself.”

Bernie just nods. 

“Where were you posted before this, Sister?” Serena asks. 

“London,” Bernie says. 

“Ah, your first overseas?” Serena asks. 

Bernie shrugs and says, “As military, anyway.”

“How was the ship ride over?”

“Unpleasant, but it turns out I have a stomach of steel,” Bernie says. “Three solid days in that thing and I must’ve been the only one not getting sick over the side. Then a few hours sleep in a hotel and a truck ride through the night to you.” 

“Well, unlike London, there’s no extended stays here. We treat for shock and stabilize them long enough to make it into the theatre. Then they’ll go upstairs to recover long enough to be sent back to the front lines or be prepared to be sent home to their mothers.”

Bernie nods. “I can do that.” 

“Mostly our day is spent transfusing blood and changing dressings but somehow every day is completely different. Ah, here we are.” Serena pushes open a set of double doors and leads them down a hall made more narrow by supplies against the walls. But the ward itself is fairly large and smells strongly of antiseptic. The ward is about half full. She counts the men - less than fifteen and enough beds for at least thirty men. 

“Don’t get used to it,” Serena says softly in deference to the patients around them. “When they come, they come all at once.”

Serena is not technically in charge of anything but it becomes clear to Bernie right away that this is her ward. Of the four of them assigned, she has the most practical front line experience and has been with this unit since they set the field hospital up. The Matron-in-Charge defers to her and Serena doesn’t disrespect that honor by abusing the privilege that comes along with it. 

The ward stays so orderly and clean that Bernie has no trouble falling into rhythm. She’s a good nurse. She’s not easily spooked, not forgetful. Her memory is good both in her head and her hands. She notices Serena keeping an eye on her for most of the morning but by the afternoon, the sensation of being watched has gone away. 

They are methodical about sending men into receive their operations, keeping to Serena’s tight schedule.

There is one patient that they both know isn’t going to survive. He may make it into theatre but he’ll never make it home or back to the fight.

“Keep him comfortable,” Serena advises. 

So Bernie does her best to keep him medicated and warm.

oooo

It all seems to happen at once which is exactly what Serena had warned her of. 

The man dies in the midst of an intake rush. Fourteen wounded men all arrive in various states. The worst of them is missing part of his jaw and his left arm up to the shoulder.

He dies, too.

Bernie knows trauma, even after a stint in London where most were on the ward for rehabilitation, because her father had been a doctor in the first war and Bernie had been interested in what he’d done. Willing to learn. 

She grabs a surgical kit from the sterilization room not because she has any grand notions of heroics, but because sometimes the tools can prove useful in creating a temporary fix. Serena is too busy to see what she’s doing anyway and when her eyes fall across a man who is losing an alarming amount of blood from a gaping wound in his leg - it’s dripping into a puddle on the floor - she grabs the clamps from the surgical kit and does what her father had taught her to do.

She clamps down on the vein and stops the bleed. Covers the clamp with a sheet of gauze, makes sure he’s not seriously wounded elsewhere and moves on to the next man. It’s not until the man is about to be taken into theatre - high up on the emergency list - that Bernie hears Serena cry out in surprise and then say, “Oh for heaven’s sake!”

“Uh,” Bernie says, exhaustion starting to creep in and blacken around the edges of her vision. “That was me.”

“How… what…?” Serena asks. 

“He had a bleed,” Bernie said. She pointed to under the bed. An orderly had done their best to sop up the mess but it had not yet been mopped clean. 

“We’re suppose to tourniquet any bleeds and pack the wound to keep it as clean as possible,” Serena says and she sounds tired too.

“Yes, I understand that’s procedure but that wasn’t going to work,” Bernie says. “All I did was… put a very tight tourniquet on the vein directly.”

The corner of Serena’s mouth twitches.

The orderly assigned to bring him into the theatre is starting to get impatient. “Take him,” Serena says. “If the Major complains about our methods, tell him to speak to me.” 

“You don’t have to cover for me,” Bernie says lightly. 

“I’m all for supporting one another if I think it’s the right call,” she says. “Wherever did you learn to do that?”

“At my cushy London gig?” Bernie offers. Not the truth, exactly, but Serena just rolls her eyes and goes back to work. 

Soon, their relief comes and just in time too because Bernie is starting to sway on her feet. Serena introduces her to their counterparts on the night shift but Bernie can barely retain the information.

“It’s tempting to skip dinner and go right to bed, but you need to keep your strength up,” Serena says. 

They eat dinner, but she keeps dozing off against her hand. Finally, when Serena is satisfied with the amount they’ve eaten, they walk together back to the room. There’s not much space, so they share the room with their nightshift counterparts. Bernie doesn’t care about a clean bed. She peels off her uniform and uses the pitcher of water to clean whatever sweat and blood left stuck to her skin.

“We’ll attempt a shower in the morning, hmm?” Serena says looking at the wall above her head. 

Bernie just nods. Someone has left her things in a corner of the room so she digs out her nightgown and climbs into the bed that Serena has indicated. 

She’s asleep before Serena puts out the light.

oooo

It takes several days to adjust to the rigorous schedule but by the end of the first week she feels like she’s more herself. Starts to notice things again - the flowers still blooming across the field, the pretty shade of lipstick Serena favors no matter how tired she is in the mornings, how much better the field uniform is even though it’s cut for a man. Trousers have always been her preference. They don’t wear the whole thing, just the pants and a blouse with the sleeves rolled up. No one cares, really, how they’re dressing as long as they’re doing their jobs. Serena complained bitterly about the alterations she’d had to make to hers to have them be wearable but Bernie is tall enough and slim enough in the hips that she hadn’t had to change a thing.

She starts getting curious again, too. Offers a couple small suggestions about the ward that Serena takes into consideration. At first, Bernie had thought she might’ve overstepped simply by the look on Serena’s face but by day’s end, Serena had adopted one of the suggestions and taken the time to explain to Bernie why she wasn’t going to heed the second. 

That night, on their narrow cots on opposite sides of room, Serena’s voice carries gently through the darkness, low and soft and warm.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she says, sleepily. “Been nice to have an equal. A real partner in things.”

Bernie makes a contented sound, just enough to show that she’d heard her. Just enough to convey her happiness at the words.

Then she sleeps.

oooo

Serena is engaged. 

Bernie learns bits and pieces as the weeks wear on. More and more of Serena unfolds as they work together. She has an older sister and a baby nephew. She’s from Holby City which is not so far from the Wolfe family estate in Wales. 

She has a fiance, Edward, fighting in the war.

“How… how long have you been engaged?” she asks, feeling vaguely overheated. She stops to take a sip of water. 

“Oh,” Serena says, resetting the dressings cart for the handover. “Let’s see. Over a year now.” 

“Well,” Bernie says, but that’s all she can muster. 

“What about you Sister Wolfe?” Serena says teasingly. They’re well into first name basis, now, but Serena’s playful voice makes her title seem even more familiar somehow. “Any handsome men waiting for you back in London?”

Bernie isn’t from London but she doesn’t bother to correct her. 

“Me?” Bernie says, pushing her fringe back from her face. She needs a trim. “I’m a career woman, I guess.” 

Serena takes a small pair of scissors, slips them into her pocket and winks at Bernie. “We’ll do trims this evening, what do you say?”

“Can I trust you?” Bernie asks. 

“If not me, then who?” she asks.

“Fair point,” Bernie concedes. 

The showers are little more than basins with tarps for privacy. The stand in a metal basin and slosh water over themselves. Soap up and then repeat the process. 

There’s no time for modesty, really. There’s a half hearted attempt to rig the tarp up between their two basins but it just gets in the way of their water source so they don’t bother. It’s not that cold, exactly, but the water is cold so they shiver through the process. 

Bernie forces herself not to stare, but Serena doesn’t seem fazed by it at all. She’s pale, they both are now. Not much time for sunlight. Pale, but her curves are so gentle; she’s like a sculpture. 

“Come on,” Serena says, wrapping her towel around her hair and then shrugging into her robe. “You ready?”

Bernie wraps herself up, too. It feels good to be clean but she feels out of sorts now. Embarrassed by how much she likes spending time with Serena, embarrassed by her own hammering heart.

“Are you all right?” Serena asks as they make their way back to their room. 

Bernie just nods. 

“Dinner will sort you out, and tea,” she says decidedly, like Bernie is one of the men on her ward. “I want you to eat a little extra tonight, you’re skin and bone.”

“Fast metabolism runs in the family,” Bernie murmurs, heat flaring anew. 

Serena had been looking, too. 

Still, at dinner, Serena slides Bernie her bread roll, forfeits the biscuits that are to go with her tea. Bernie accepts them only because she doesn’t know how to tell Serena no, only because taking them seems to please her. 

“Tell me more about Edward,” Bernie asks. 

“Edward,” Serena says faintly. 

“Your fiance,” Bernie prompts. 

“Right,” she says. “It just… being here and him being… wherever he is, I try not to dwell on it.”

“No daydreams about your wedding?” Bernie asks.

“No sense daydreaming about something that may not come to pass,” Serena says. “You and I know all too well the sort of things that can happen to a man fighting for his country.” 

Bernie feels chastised, looks down at her plate. 

“He’s not a bad man,” Serena says. “I’ve known him since I was a girl. When the war broke out… I mean, we all got rather swept up in it, didn’t we? Sweethearts getting married, engagements left and right, promises to be faithful, to wait.” She cocks her head. “It all seems very dreamlike now.” 

“Does he write to you?” Bernie presses. “Do you know where he is?”

“Come now, Sister,” Serena says, sounding more like a ward sister than her friend. “Careless talk costs lives.”

She stands up, picks up her tray, and moves to bus it.

Leaves Bernie alone feeling rather foolish, indeed.

oooo

They sit out on a bench in the green field. They're losing light fast, but Bernie has a hand torch should it start to get too dark. She has her slightly damp towel around her shoulders and Serena is finally giving her that trim. Bernie had asked for just her fringe but Serena is doing it all with the small, sharp scissors. She’s not cutting much, just a bit all around, exposing her neck to the dusk air.

It’s starting to get cold now, very cold once the sun sets. Serena says when it starts to rain, things will get harder for them. Mud and muck and infection making the difference between life and death all the more slippery.

She leans over and blows across the back of Bernie’s neck and it makes Bernie shiver. 

Little snippets of blonde hair float gently to the grass around them.

oooo

They wear the full uniform now when they’re out of doors, wrapping the heavy coats around them as their breath puffs out visibly. Among the things they treat for regularly now is frostbite. They keep a steady supply of hot bottles for the poor men in their beds, but it’s a finger in the dam. 

They shiver through three nights of frigid temperature and fitful sleep before Serena snaps and pushes their narrow beds together. 

“I’m going to kill someone if I don’t get some sleep, literally,” she says, grunting as the wooden frame screeches over the slate floor. The noise makes Bernie jump to and she moves to the other end, helps drag Serena’s bed over to hers. “I’m tired of being cold and tired.”

“Time to enact survival protocols?” Bernie murmurs affectionately. No sense pretending she has complaints when it’s Serena’s idea in the first place.

“Yes,” Serena says. “I mean… if it’s all right with you.”

Bernie just rolls her eyes, remakes the bed with their blankets turned sideways. Bernie’s down across their feet and Serena’s at their shoulders. It’s not exactly comfortable in the center of the makeshift double bed but Serena sleeps at an angle with her feet tucked under Bernie’s legs and while it’s not toasty, it’s certainly warmer. 

Bernie feels nervous about the new arrangement when next she sees sisters Williams and McDoughnah for the ward handover but Sister Williams just says, “You guys must be even colder than we are!” in the sweet, non-judgmental way that she has and they don’t break the beds apart either, so it must be fine. 

And if it’s easy to reach for Serena’s hand in the night because she’s whimpering in her sleep, well then. 

That’s fine too, she supposes.

oooo

A bad day. 

Catastrophic. 

Three dead before the medics could get them into the door of the ward.

Bernie performs an emergency tracheotomy on one man, saves him from drowning in his own blood, but the surgeon comes out of the theatre, a rarity, to give her a sound dressing down for overstepping her bounds. Not her job, not her area of expertise, could have killed him. 

“You saved his life, and he knows it,” Serena says after, her hand on Bernie’s shoulder. “If given half a chance, you’d make an amazing surgeon.”

Bernie manages a small smile but feels mostly as if she’s been kicked in the stomach for the rest of the day.

And the wounded just keep coming, overwhelming them in waves and they lose so many. They fall behind on everything, transfusions, meds, daily tasks. When it comes time for handover, no one leaves, the other sisters just work alongside them and by the time things feel under control, it’s nearly midnight.

They’ve missed dinner, are too early for breakfast so they have to make do with tea and biscuits and a tin of fruit each. 

They use the loo, go back to their room. 

Serena realizes that Bernie is crying before Bernie herself does. She’s leaking mostly, overloaded and overtired. 

Serena shuts the door to their room and says, “Come here.” 

Wraps her arms around Bernie.

Bernie presses her face into Serena’s neck, smells the sweat and the detergent and the unique smell that is simply Serena herself. 

“Sorry,” Bernie murmurs into her. 

Serena just strokes her hand through Bernie’s hair. 

They sleep close that night, pressed onto one cot, both blankets over them. Serena sleeps against her back, her knees tucked into Bernie’s knees. 

Bernie has a nightmare, and then another. Serena holds her through them both.

When dawn comes, Serena wakes her gently, smiles down at her with ruddy cheeks and messy hair.

“If we can make it through the last 24 hours we can make it through anything.”

Bernie nods, thinks about tilting her head up and pressing her lips against Serena’s but she doesn’t. 

She can’t and she wouldn’t. 

This isn’t London, this isn’t real life. 

Bernie’s had her secret for a long time and if she has her way, Serena will never know it because if she did, she’d take away her friendship and it’s the thing that carries Bernie through these horrendous days and long nights. She couldn’t bear to see Serena pull back, look at her with disgust or, worse, pity.

“A new day, dearest,” Serena says with her low, deep morning voice. 

Bernie just nods, tries not to cry again.

oooo

When the weather breaks, they get a rare day off. They travel in their grey and scarlet, their veils covering their heads. The uniform fits differently, because she’s lost so much weight. Serena’s hangs loose, too. A truck going into town offers them a ride and one back if they show up to the right place on time and they take it. 

Bernie can’t remember the last time she actually spent money, bought something or did something frivolous. She wants something decadently female like a pair of silk stockings or a perfumed hand cream. Something to offset her life of work and blood and trousers. 

Serena is dreaming of chocolate. 

The day is, objectively, unremarkable. They do little besides walk around in the sunshine, stop for tea and treats, window shop more than anything else. Serena does buy some chocolate, Bernie does buy some hand cream. 

But it feels like, perhaps, the best day of Bernie’s entire life. 

Bumping around the back of the truck on the ride back to the hospital, Bernie can’t help but think about her ride here all those months ago, how scared she was, how unsure. Now, despite the war and the daily terror that has become old hat, she can’t help but be happy. 

Serena keeps looking at her, smiling. Beaming like they’re sharing a secret, which maybe they are. Their secret is their pleasure in spite of their circumstances. The friendship that has bloomed in the midst of adversity. The love that Bernie has for Sister Serena McKinnie.

No sense in lying to herself about it now. 

There’s a moment when the truck stops abruptly and Serena slides hard into her, Bernie into the wall. They can hear the diver yelling at some obstruction in the road.

“Are you hurt?” Serena breathes, barely a whisper. Their faces are as close as, perhaps, they have ever been.

Bernie is frozen, consumed by desire.

“Bernie?” Serena says softly.

Something takes over her, it’s the only explanation Bernie has because she’d never allow herself to give in. But for a moment in the dark back of the truck, surrounded by supplies, Bernie loses control of her faculties entirely. Something possesses her. 

Serena’s lips are soft and warm and Bernie kisses her for several long seconds before she regains control and pulls back, terrified. 

Serena looks surprised, stares at Bernie’s mouth for a few dizzying seconds before she leans in again, bringing their lips together once more. 

Only when the truck lurches forward again do they part.

Before Bernie can do anything, Serena grabs her hand and squeezes her fingers hard. “It’s okay,” she whispers. “Dearest, it’s all right. It’s all right. It’s all right.”

She says it again and again until they get home.

oooo

Even though their beds have been separated once more in deference to warmer weather, Serena tucks in with Bernie as often as she doesn’t. They hold each other tight. 

Bernie knows she is a terrible person because she starts to hope that the war never ends. 

Even more terribly, she starts to hope that Edward never makes it home from the front lines. 

She never says as much to Serena, but Serena must know because she holds Bernie as she shakes and pants and weeps, their skin flushed and hot against one another. 

“I know,” she murmurs against Bernie’s parted lips. “I know my love, I know.” 

Later, Bernie watches her as she sleeps, her skin made luminous and pale by the moonlight.

She smooths Serena’s hair across her forehead. Places a soft kiss against her bare shoulder. 

Sleeps, but does not dream.


	17. it's okay, life is a tough crowd, 32, and still growin' up now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked for: _Berena prompt idea (cause I love your domestic puttering becomes hot thing you do so well!): Serena buys groceries for Bernie after being horrified by state of her fridge / kitchen, groceries are unpacked and then Bernie takes it the wrong way, TENSION ENSUES and they gotta work it out somehow... omg I know nothing happens but idk I want it_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen, i know that there’s no place that’s close enough for bernie to walk both to serena’s and the hospital but i don’t caaaaaaaare none of this is reeeeeal!!!
> 
> anyway nothing happens just like how you asked for.
> 
> eta: someone asked me to tag the dom/isaac stuff, so heads up, while nothing graphic, there is mentions of domestic/emotional abuse.

Bernie moves out of her dreary little flat into a proper house; a rental. Serena and Jason help her move, though it turns out to be not much of a chore because most of the furniture came with the flat and the house she’s moving into is furnished as well. Bernie makes the choice to move because the house is both closer to the hospital and to Serena’s house and because the lift her old building was unreliable and climbing several flights of stairs all the time was starting to wreak havoc on her back. 

She and Serena had one brief conversation about how Bernie might possibly consider moving in with her and Jason and Bernie had, somewhat haltingly, but still had, shared her concerns about rushing things. Had reassured Serena that she was very much in love with her, but did not feel quite ready for cohabitation. Serena had respected this, had even mentioned that it was true that Bernie hadn’t spent much time on her own after her divorce. Not even a year yet. 

“Besides, Serena, I’m four blocks away from you,” Bernie had said. “You can come over whenever you want. We could do whatever we wanted without waiting for Jason to be out.” 

After that, there’d been no more talk of moving into Serena’s. 

The house is little, boasting two bedrooms and only one bath but it’s got a bit of garden in the back and other luxuries. A washer and dryer, a full kitchen, already wired for television and internet. There’s beds in both rooms, a sofa and a coffee table. A table in the kitchen with room for three because one side is pressed against the wall. 

She’ll have to buy odds and ends, but it really does feel perfect for her. She can walk to Serena’s, she can walk to work. She loves a good walk. She has room to stretch out, a place for Cam to crash if he comes to visit or Charlotte, if one day pigs might fly. 

Bernie even mentions to Jason while they’re carrying in the kitchen boxes that she might like for Serena to spend the night sometimes, and would that be alright? Jason thinks about it and says, “I’d like, at minimum, a week’s notice to prepare for the change in routine.” 

That seems fair but not altogether realistic, so Bernie counters with, “What if we pick a night of the week for that to be Serena’s night with me and it can become part of a new routine?”

“I like that better,” Jason says. “Do you and I get to choose or should we consult Auntie Serena?”

“Consult me on what?” Serena says, coming in front the front and pulling off her furry hat. They’d gotten a late start because of rain and it’s clear now, but still wet outside. The ground and the grass and the trees dripping from their gnarled, bare branches. 

“A night for you to spend with Bernie, once a week,” Jason says. “Here.”

“Oh,” Serena says. “That’s an idea.” 

“Bernie’s,” Jason says. “I think it ought to be a weeknight because then you could caravan to work together.” 

“That narrows it down to Monday night or Wednesday night,” Bernie says. “The rest of the week we have staggered start times.”

“I prefer Wednesday night,” Jason says. “Auntie Serena gets bored with Countdown and I could save them all up and watch them on my own. I could also go to the shop and get my own fish and chips for dinner.” 

Serena smiles warmly at him. “You certainly could.” 

“So it’s settled,” Bernie says. “Wednesday nights, Serena is with me.”

“I like the funny Countdown,” Serena points out. “I like Jimmy Carr.” 

“That is _not_ real Countdown,” Jason sniffs. “They barely even play the game.”

“I’ll watch the funny Countdown with you,” Bernie says. Serena smiles at her. 

“Okay,” she says.

oooo

Bernie goes out on her day off to do some shopping. Serena is at work, tries to convince her to wait until she can go with her but Bernie waves it off. She doesn’t need much. Still Serena makes her a list, emails it to her phone. It’s got ridiculous things on it, things Bernie wouldn’t even dream of considering if she’d had to come up with the list on her own. Throw pillows for the sofa? A list of twenty separate spices. Bernie has to look up what a loofah is only to find it’s the official name of the puff Serena keeps in her shower. Serena has instructed that she get two, different colors. Hers and hers, as it were.

Bernie goes to three different stores, refers to the list a little but mostly buys what she wants. The last place she goes is the grocers and she’s run out of steam so her shopping is halfhearted at best. She buys mainly prepackaged things that are easily heated up in lieu of real cooking. In deference to Serena, she manages to buy both salt and pepper. 

She gets home, exhausted.

The first Wednesday night that Serena spends with Bernie, they go out to dinner and spend most of the evening in bed together, so it doesn’t much matter that Bernie doesn’t have paprika or coordinated pillows or a special holder for bananas. She did buy a squishy foam pad to put on the mattress to make it a little softer and Serena likes that just fine.

oooo

She can’t remember the last time she and Dom met up on the roof. Bernie has nipped up for a smoke break, preferring the roof to going outside in a more traditional manner because she gets dirty looks from other hospital staff who think she should know better than to smoke. She does know better and has cut way back since sorting things out with Serena. She’s more of a stress smoker and today is shaping up to be a stressful day. 

She stands under the protection a curved vent offers so she doesn’t get rained on much and smokes her fag. She thinks maybe she’ll see Dom today, maybe if she puts out into the universe her desire to check on him, he’ll appear. A bat signal of the heart. 

But he doesn’t show.

She thinks about stopping by Keller to put eyes on him, but her pager goes off before her break is even up. She drops the butt of her cigarette, stamps it out, and heads back to AAU. 

They go for a drink after work to decompress from the hectic day. Serena catches her scanning the bar.

“Who are you looking for?” Serena demands. 

“Dr. Copeland,” she murmurs. “I haven’t seen him in ages.” 

“Oh, you know how it is when you’re in a new relationship,” Serena says. “Have you checked the supply cupboards?”

“You never would go into a supply cupboard with me,” Bernie says. 

“We are not a CT2 and a Registrar,” she says. “We have standards. We have to set an example.” 

“You have standards,” Bernie says, touching her knee under the table. Serena smirks. They get wrapped up in one another, sharing a bottle of wine and Bernie forgets all about Dom until he and Dr. Mayfield make an appearance. Bernie only notices at all because Dr. March shouts his name across the bar and Bernie sees Dom wince and glance at his partner who looks disgusted. 

“That’s odd,” Bernie says, watching the display - how Dom slinks over to Dr. March, meek in a way she’s never seen before. How Dr. Mayfield never loses that look on his face, like he’s just smelled something foul.

“What?” Serena says, turning to see what she’s looking at.

“He just doesn’t seem himself,” Bernie says. “I’m worried about him. He seems sad all the time. I never see him ‘round.”

“He’s here now,” Serena says, but now she’s got that little line between her eyebrows that means she’s concerned too. 

“Maybe I ought to go talk to him,” Bernie says. 

“We’ll both go,” Serena says, picking up her wine glass.

“We’ll lose the table,” Bernie frets.

“Bottle is empty,” Serena points out, slinging her coat over one arm and her purse over her shoulder. “How much longer did you want to stay anyway?”

“Depends on whether or not I go home or come to yours, I guess,” Bernie says. 

Serena’s eyes drop to her mouth and she says, “You’re always welcome in my bed, Berenice, you know that.” 

“Focus,” Bernie whispers, her lips curling into a smile. 

They shuffle their things across the bar to where Dr. March and Dom are sitting, both looking at Dr. Mayfield ordering drinks. There’s only one vacant chair, ostensibly for Dr. Mayfield, but Serena doesn’t hesitate. She drops right into it and Bernie perches on the arm. 

Dr. March smiles at her and says, “How are you, Ms. Wolfe?”

“Oh Bernie is… it’s fine,” she says. “I’m well. How are you? How is Darwin?”

“It’s good. Interesting. The same but never boring,” she says. 

“And what about you,” Bernie says to Dom. “What about Keller?” She reaches out to touch his shoulder but he flinches away. 

“It’s fine,” he says quietly. 

Bernie looks sideways at Serena who is already looking at her in return.

“Haven’t seen you on the roof in a while,” Bernie says lightly. “Text me next time you go up, hmm?”

“Sure,” he says.

From behind them, Dr. Mayfield’s voice cuts through with “I’m going to have to ask you ladies to vacate my seat, please.”

Serena turns so slowly that it’s an artistry really. The look on her face, the set of her jaw, the refusal to be rushed, why, it’s poetry. Mayfield is squirming by the ending of, the smug look sliding right off his face.

“Excuse me?” Serena says softly, coldly.

Bernie can see Dr. March flinch. 

Bernie has possibly never loved Serena more than in this moment. She feels a tingle low in her gut.

Mayfield clears his throat, forces the smile back to his face and says, “Dom, come get your drink.” 

“We can pass it over,” Bernie says, snatching the bottle right out of his grip and handing it to Dom. It’s a battle of wills now. Mayfield has asked them to move and they haven’t. They won’t. Mayfield has asked Dom to move and instead, they have intercepted him. Now, he has no recourse but to stand awkwardly and Bernie has no qualms about that, turning her back to him and says, “Okay, tell me when on earth you’re going to send Raf back to us, we can hardly stand it.”

“Oh, I hear that he’s having a good time,” Dr. March says. She smirks into her wine glass. 

Dom says, “I’m going to toilet,” and sets his drink down, stands up. Serena squeezes her thigh but Bernie already knows she’s going to follow him.

Mayfield doesn’t waste any time in taking Dom’s vacated seat.

oooo

Bernie is there, leaning against the wall when Dom comes out.

“Hello,” he says questioningly.

“Come home with me tonight,” she says softly.

He pulls a face and says, “You’re a beautiful woman, Ms. Wolfe, and I’m flattered but I’m fairly certain we aren’t each other’s type.” 

“I don’t like him, Dom. I don’t like how he treats you. He makes the skin on the back of my neck prickle,” she says, ignoring his joke.

“He’s not… he’s nice when you get to know him,” Dom says.

“He doesn’t seem nice,” Bernie says firmly. “I don’t want you to feel trapped. We can get your things together, you can come with me.”

“Ms. Wolfe,” he says. “I’m fine.”

She stares hard at his face; he looks down at his feet.

“All right,” she says. “Can’t force you. But if you change your mind let me know. Or Serena.” 

He nods. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” she says. “Can we walk you home at least?”

He shakes his head no.

She and Serena leave not long after but they’re both quiet and fretting the whole way home.

“Do you think he’d hurt Dom physically?” Serena asks finally.

“I honestly don’t know,” Bernie says.

oooo

Dom texts her to come to the roof Wednesday morning and Bernie basically drops everything to sprint up the stairs. She’s not sure the state she’s going to find him in, but when she sees him, he looks normal. Maroon scrubs, grey hoodie, white trainers.

“Hi,” he says shyly. 

“Hello,” she says in return. 

There’s an awkward stretch because this isn’t going how Bernie expected.

“Sorry about the weirdness the other night,” Dom offers, looking past her at the horizon. There are clouds rolling in, but they don’t look dark. Maybe they’ll finally get a reprieve from the rain. 

“How do you mean?” Bernie presses.

“I feel like there was just a misunderstanding,” Dom says. “Like maybe you got the wrong impression of things.”

“I see,” she says. 

“Things are fine with me and Isaac,” he says. “That’s all.”

“Good to hear, Dr. Copeland,” she says.

“How are things with you and Ms. Campbell?” he asks.

She narrows his eyes at him. “Very good.”

He nods. “Nice to finally be happy, huh?” 

“If only Arthur could see you now,” Bernie says. It’s a callous move, but she doesn’t feel sorry for using it. “Do you think he would’ve liked Dr. Mayfield?”

Dom turns away, says, “Stop.”

“Because I wonder,” Bernie says.

“I have to go,” Dom says and leaves her there, alone on the roof.

oooo

She’s got her hand down Serena's trousers. It’s Wednesday night.

They’re on the sofa, putting off going upstairs even though it’s late now and they both work in the morning. It’s just nice to be able to kiss one another somewhere other than the bedroom without the fear of getting caught. It’s still new enough that they get a thrill from it. 

Bernie pulls aside the crotch of Serena’s knickers and runs a finger through the wet that she finds.

Serena groans into her shoulder, hiding her face. After a few moments, she mutters something that Bernie can’t quite make out.

“What?”

“I said you’re a tease!” Serena says, lifting her head. 

“Oh,” Bernie says, her finger still sliding around without pushing into Serena. “That’s true.” She grazes a little higher and Serena cries out in frustration, a high pitched noise. Bernie moves her finger back down again and Serena squirms, lifts her hips and impales herself.

“Yes,” she moans.

“Cheeky,” Bernie says, her lips against Serena’s ear.

On the coffee table in front of them, Bernie’s phone buzzes.

Bernie ignores it, curls the finger inside of Serena until she moans.

“There,” Serena says. “Right there, god, Bernie, just… like that…” 

Bernie kisses Serena’s cheek, her temple, catches her mouth and says into her ear, “Upstairs?”

“Here,” Serena says. “Now.”

Bernie smirks, shifts them so Serena can lie back on the sofa. She has to pull her hand out and Serena huffs impatiently, but lifts her hips anyway so Bernie can yank the trousers and knickers down and off. Serena’s knees fall open and her own hand moves between her legs.

Bernie bats it away. 

On the table, Bernie’s phone buzzes again.

“Don’t you dare,” Serena warns. Bernie smiles at her, slips off the couch, onto her knees.

“Wouldn’t dare, Ms. Campbell,” she says, lowering her mouth to Serena’s pale thigh and kissing up it. She keeps her eyes Serena’s face as her tongue works her over. Serena stares right back, color high in her cheeks, teeth working her bottom lip. 

Bernie knows she’s close when Serena breaks eye contact, her head falling back, her neck pale and long and exposed. She’s the most beautiful thing that Bernie has ever seen. Bernie puts her arm across Serena’s stomach just it time to hold her in place as she tips over the edge, her hands tangling in Bernie’s hair. 

Bernie kisses her when she’s through it, on her hipbone, the inside of her thigh, her knee.

“You know what would have made that really marvelous,” Serena says, her voice sounding a bit drowsy. 

“Do tell,” Bernie says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“A bloody throw pillow under my head,” she says. 

Bernie smacks her knee, groans as she stands up. “Ungrateful, that’s what you are.” 

“No, no, I’m sorry, don’t go,” Serena calls after her.

“I’m just washing my hands,” she promises. Serena says something to her when she’s in the kitchen but she can’t understand her with the water running. When she comes back into the living room, Serena’s got her underpants back on and says, “Your mobile again.” 

Bernie picks it up, looks at the screen. Three missed calls from Dominic Copeland.

“Shit,” she says. 

Across the room, Serena’s phone starts to ring in her purse. Bernie swipes at her screen to call Dom back but it goes straight to voicemail.

Serena digs out her phone and says, “It’s Dr. Copeland.”

“Answer it,” Bernie says. 

“Hello?” Serena says. And then, “Slow down, Dom. What happened?”

Bernie frets. She should’ve answered her phone. 

“She’s right here, honey,” Serena says. 

Bernie takes the phone. “Dom?”

“Bernie,” he says. “I think… I mean, I’m sorry to call but… I’m not sure…”

“Stay right there,” Bernie says. “I’m going to come get you.” 

oooo

Serena is much more maternal than Bernie and for that Bernie is grateful because once she gets home with Dom and his two bags of things, she has no idea what to do next. But Serena takes over the moment they step in. She speaks to him in soft tones, shows him the guest bedroom, makes him a cup of tea, tells him he doesn’t have to talk about it, that they’ll take him to work in the morning if he wants, that she’ll talk to Ric for him if he needs the day off.

Serena goes upstairs to make sure there are sheets on the guest bed while Bernie and Dom finish their tea in the kitchen.

“You two are… really in love, aren’t you?” he asks after a while. “You and Ms. Campbell.”

“It would appear so,” she says. 

“I’m intruding,” he says. 

“No,” she says. “I feel much better with you here.” 

“I just thought that it was different this time,” he says. “But…”

“Dom,” she says. “I’d like you to come with me to speak to Mr. Hanssen tomorrow.” 

“I can’t-”

“You can,” Bernie says. “You don’t have to speak against Dr. Mayfield if you don’t want to, but I don’t think it’s right that you stay on Keller.”

“You… want me to change wards?” Dom asks. 

“I want you to speak to Mr. Hanssen,” Bernie says. “That’s all.” 

“Ms. Campbell-”

“Serena,” Bernie says.

“Serena said maybe I could take the day…”

“Friday, then,” Bernie says. 

He nods and looks into his tea cup. “Never thought I’d see Serena in her pajamas.” 

Bernie smiles. “Don’t get any big ideas, Copeland, she’s mine.” 

“Harsh but fair,” he says.

Serena fusses about him until he goes to bed and then they put themselves to bed also, curling up against one another in Bernie’s bed. 

“When I started at this hospital, I told myself not to get emotionally invested in the personal lives of my staff,” Serena says. “But it’s hard not to care for the people you spend so much time with.”

“You also railed against sleeping with colleagues, I bet,” Bernie points out. She slides her hand down her back and pats Serena on the rear to illustrate how that had gone. 

“Oh speaking of,” Serena says. “I owe you one, Ms. Wolfe.” 

“I don’t keep a ledger,” Bernie says. “It doesn’t all have to balance at the end of the month.” 

Serena nips at her clavicle in retaliation. “You’re certainly welcome to collect your balance later.” 

“Noted,” Bernie says, and then yawns. “Sorry,” she says. “Knackered.”

“He’s going to be okay,” Serena says. “You’re doing a good thing for him. I think he’s just been a little lost since Arthur died.”

Bernie nods. They lie hugging one another. Serena could sleep all night like this but Bernie will wait until she nods off and then carefully extract herself. Or maybe tonight she’ll forego sleep and just keep Serena in her arms. 

Serena, already half gone, mumbles, “Do you still love me?”

“More than anything,” Bernie assures her. 

Serena makes a tiny, happy sound and drops off.

oooo

Dom and Bernie live well together. They like the same rubbish television programs, the eat the same take out, neither care very much about whether or not the table is clear and the sink is empty before they go to bed. 

Mr. Hanssen had listened to Bernie’s concerns and then spoken to Dom privately at some length. Professionally, Mr. Mayfield is in good standing so for the time, Mr. Hanssen has sent Raf back to Keller and Dom has been wearing AAU scrubs for a week. 

“These go better with my eyes,” he’d joked on the first day. Bernie’s just happy he’s back to cracking jokes at all. Over the weekend, she goes with him to Dr. Mayfield’s flat and they clear out the rest of Dom’s things. 

“He won’t be there,” Dom assures her on the drive over. “He never misses a weekend brunch.” 

So now Dom is all moved in with Bernie. They have a chat and agree to a monthly rent. She tries to drastically under charge him but he argues until she under charges him only a little.

“What about like… well Zosia and Arthur always had a chore system. Little star stickers. A spinny wheel.” He rolls his eyes.

She stares at him. “I think we can sort it out, don’t you?”

He nods. 

“Besides we work all the time,” she says. “How bad could it get?”

Dom is the only one home on Wednesday when Serena lets herself into the house with her key. He’s on the sofa with a beer in his lounge wear and looks up at her. 

“You’re not Bernie,” he says.

“She got stuck in theatre,” Serena says, looking around with a horrified expression. “This place is horrendous!”

“What?” he says looking around. 

“It’s been a single week!” Serena says. “How is every surface covered with take out containers and rubbish?”

Dom looks around. “It’s a bit messy,” he says.

Serena hangs her purse on the hook by the door and then her jacket and scarf. “You’d think 25 years in the military would have had some effect on her ability to organize something but you’d be wrong.”

Serena picks up empty food containers as she goes and disappears into the kitchen. Comes back into the living room again and says, “The bin is _literally_ overflowing.”

“We’ve not yet worked out who is going to empty it,” Dom says.

“How about the person who notices that it’s full,” she seethes.

“That would appear to be you, Ms. Campbell,” he says with a grin. 

She narrows her eyes at him. Goes back into the kitchen. Returns a few minutes later and looks at him with her hands on her hips. 

“What have I done now?” he whines. 

“Has either of you gone food shopping at all?” she asks. “I opened the door to the refrigerator and a puff of dust and a moth flew out.” 

He snorts. 

“Has no one taught either of you how to live like adults?” 

“Why am I in trouble, it’s her house,” he complains. “She’s the naughty one.” 

“If she gets home before I come back, tell her I am going to the grocery store,” Serena says. “When I return, I want that bin emptied and this place tidied up.” 

“Yes mum,” he says. She walks over and smacks him lightly on the top of the head. 

“You’re her pet, not mine,” she warns him. 

“Shall I grow out my hair and get the world’s most flutteriest eyelashes then?” he asks.

“Couldn’t hurt,” she calls as she closes the door. 

oooo

It’s not their first fight, exactly, because of that whole Ukraine situation, but it’s their first domestic spat in the new place, at least. Serena is like dog with a bone, harping on every little thing and Bernie can’t figure out why it matters so much to her whether they have fresh produce in the house or they empty the dishwasher instead of just pulling clean dishes out as they need them or whether the clothes come out of the dryer before they cool off into wrinkles. 

“We’re happy, we’re fine,” Bernie insists. “None of that matters to me or to Dom.”

“But it matters to _me_ ,” Serena says.

“Why?” Bernie demands.

“Because!” she says and then stops, freezes up a little.

“Go on, just say it,” Bernie says.

Serena sighs. “Because what happens if I can’t stand living with you?”

“We don’t live together!”

“But one day we might,” Serena says. “Isn’t that what happens with serious relationships, Bernie? And I’m serious about this, I’m so serious about you.”

Bernie wrings her hands. “Ah,” she says. “Okay. Um. Let’s… think about that.”

“Don’t get scared,” Serena says. “Don’t bolt.”

Bernie huffs. “I’m _not_.”

“I’m just saying, you have a history…”

“Serena,” Bernie says. “I’ve only just moved into this house. Literally just! And Dom is still figuring out his life and… don’t you think it’s a little soon to get mad at me for how I might leave my future socks on our future floor?”

Serena rolls her eyes but says nothing.

“I would make an effort for you,” Bernie says. “But we don’t think about doing that because you don’t live here.”

Serena sniffs. “You could make an effort on Wednesdays.”

Bernie laughs. “Maybe we could.” She reaches out and takes Serena’s hand. “I think you’re worth the effort, you know.” 

“I just want you guys to… take good care of yourselves,” Serena says. 

Upstairs they hear the a door open. “Are you two done with your row?” Dom calls. 

Serena scrunches up her nose. “Yes,” she calls in a tone that means danger.

“Can Zosia come over,” Dom calls. “She had a bad day.”

Bernie sighs. “Of course,” she calls. 

“Remember when Wednesday nights were about having sex wherever we wanted?” Serena whispers.

“That only lasted two weeks,” Bernie says. 

“My bed is a queen,” Serena murmurs. “If we’re gonna be not having sex, can we do it in a larger bed?”

“What about Jason? He won’t be expecting us,” Bernie whispers.

Dom comes down the stairs with the phone to his ear and says, “I know, Oliver is the worst, just get over here. We can cry it out together. You want to watch Love Actually? We can watch Love Actually.” He disappears into the kitchen.

“Okay, let’s go,” Bernie says. 

Serena laughs.


	18. magic, madness, heaven, sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said: _If you're still taking prompts then how about: Serena's never known anyone with a libido quite like Bernie's. Not that she's complaining about it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's like, everyone was writing the smuttiest porn and then i wanted to write the smuttiest porn!!! so i did!! nsfw!!

Serena was married to Edward for 18 years and four months. She’d slept with a fair amount of people by the time she’d tied the knot. A steady boyfriend through her teens, a few serious ones at university. A phase during med school where she’d used one night stands as stress relief. So that had bumped her numbers up considerably. And Robbie - not her perfect match, but he was fine in bed. Good enough that she’d called him again when Bernie had been away. Perfectly serviceable for itches that needed scratching. 

Serena’s not a prude, she likes sex. It turns out she likes it with men and women alike. A little tardy to that realization but better late than never. She wants to have sex, a good healthy amount of it. 

But Bernie is _killing_ her. 

oooo

The first time they’d been together had been quite lovely. After so much flirting and waiting and foreplay and being apart and then being back together, after kissing in their office and then having to face their colleagues on the long walk from the consultant’s office to the lift with everyone knowing what they were leaving to do, it was still almost magically perfect. They were both on the aggressive side, reckless in their desire, but Bernie was gentle, too, and often stopped - like swimming to the surface and breaking the water with a gasp - to check on her and make sure every thing they were doing was still okay. Serena felt cared for, she felt loved. She felt shagged to within an inch of her life. 

She’d woken up sore and satisfied. In the pale winter light of early morning, Bernie had cataloged the bruises that appeared on Serena’s fair skin in the night. A love bite here, the faint echo of fingers gripping hard there. Had kissed each mark, each wound. Had started the whole dance over again. It was different in the light of day, a bit. For one, they’d already done it. Serena was more shy, though, the second time around. Some of the urgency was gone and in the light it was easier to see every expression Bernie made, every fine strand of golden hair, every freckle across her shoulders. The knit together skin of her scar stood out in sharp relief and Bernie stilled when Serena kissed it. 

Maybe it was inexperience or maybe it had more to do with Bernie being a whiz at hiding things, but it took Serena several weeks to realize that this gentle, attentive, delicate Bernie was not quite right. She wasn’t bad, Serena didn’t feel lied to, but the more time they spent together, especially in bed, the more Serena began to realize that Bernie was holding back. 

It was a bit of a pickle to figure out how to get her to let go a little without spooking her. Serena had to let her know that she wasn’t doing anything wrong, that she could trust Serena, that there wasn’t anything that Bernie could want or desire that Serena wouldn’t want to give her. 

Serena started by talking to her more in bed. Whispering things into her ear. 

_Do you like that?_

_Does that feel good?_

_You want it harder, Major?_

Sometimes Bernie would reply nonverbally. A nod or make eye contact or a smile. 

Once, Serena got her to grunt a response by asking her if something felt good and then immediately nipping at her, teeth scraping against skin. 

It seemed like Bernie didn’t mind when Serena got rough or pointed or focused. 

Serena got the best reaction when she’d surprised Bernie. Bernie was on top of her, using the thrust of her own hips to drive three fingers into Serena. Serena had, rather in the heat of the moment, decided to bring her open hand down hard against Bernie’s backside. 

Bernie had cried out as loudly as Serena had ever heard, swore - “Fuck!” - and thrust into Serena so hard that within three pivots of Bernie’s hips, Serena was coming. 

After, Bernie had apologized profusely.

“I’m so sorry, did I hurt you? I’m sorry, Serena,” she’d said but Serena had only laughed and called the experience bloody marvelous. Had stretched, feeling languid and loose, had pushed Bernie onto her back, had spent the next forty minutes showing her exactly how much she hadn’t minded.

But later, Serena knew that she’d had to bring the topic up. That they’d have to do something Bernie truly hated. 

They’d have to talk about it. 

oooo

When Serena had wanted to approach a touchy subject with Edward, she’d put a lot of time and effort into trapping him like a fly in honey. She’d put on something pretty, she’d make his favorite meal. She’d pamper him with expensive alcohol. She’d get him warm and full and happy and just a little drunk and then she’d strike.

She finds herself doing the same thing to Bernie somewhat unconsciously. She buys the makings of Bernie’s favorite meal and then spends hours in the kitchen prepping and cooking. She buys the kind of dark rum she likes, she puts on the blouse that Bernie had complimented once and the silky vest edged with lace underneath, the one she never wears to work. A bra that pushed everything up. 

“What’s all this?” Bernie had said, coming over straight from the hospital, her hair a wild mess hanging down into her eyes, her blouse wrinkled from being shoved in a locker all day. “It smells amazing.”

“Just a little something I whipped up for dinner,” Serena had said. 

“You look so beautiful,” Bernie had complimented her. “Where’s Jason?”

“He’s with Alan tonight,” Serena had said. “Didn’t I tell you that?” She hadn’t. “I thought I did.” She knew she didn’t.

“What a treat,” Bernie had said. “Though he’ll be sad he missed this meal.”

“We’ll save him some leftovers,” Serena reassured her, handing her the drink she’d made.

“Wow,” Bernie said, kissing Serena on the cheek. “Did I forget my own birthday?”

“I don’t need a reason to dote on you,” Serena had chided. “You deserve to be pampered.” 

Serena spent the dinner asking gently probing questions about Bernie’s day, teasing longer and longer responses out of her, getting her warmed up, as it were.

After dinner, they washed up together, and then retired to the living room with fresh drinks.

“Do you want to watch something?” Bernie asked.

“Do you?” Serena prompted. 

Bernie shook her head no. They watched a lot more television with Jason than either of them would otherwise, so it was nice to have the television be off, for a change. 

“Bernie,” Serena said, sliding a little closer to her. “Would you kiss me?”

Bernie laughed at the request, charmed. “It would be an honor and a privilege.”

It hadn’t taken long for Bernie’s eyes to go dark with wide pupils, her fingers to clench at her sides. 

Serena nipped at Bernie’s earlobe, whispered, “You don’t have to hold back.” 

But even with the alcohol and the food and the pleasant conversation and the quarter hour of kissing, even with all of that, Bernie still pulled back, turned her face away from Serena and murmured, “I’m not.”

Undaunted, Serena said, “So take me upstairs. Show me what you’re made of.”

And then, when they were upstairs, Serena told her, “You’re in charge tonight okay?”

“What does that mean?” Bernie asked. “No one is in charge.”

“It just means I want you to… feel like you’re getting everything that you need. I want to go until you say stop. Until you’re satisfied,” Serena said. “Tonight is about you.” 

Bernie’s expression was a familiar one. Her mouth tightened around her teeth, her brow furrowed. 

A little crack in the armor. 

And then Bernie very carefully said, “We have to work in the morning.” 

One of Serena’s eyebrows climbed up. “I wish… that you would tell me if there is something missing. Something more that you need.”

“No,” Bernie said quickly. “No, you are perfect Serena, you make me feel so good.” 

“I’m not aiming for perfection,” Serena said. “Only satisfaction. Sometimes it seems as if… you could do with a bit more.”

Bernie’s mouth did that thing again. 

“That’s something you could tell me, you know,” Serena said. “We don’t have to be done because I say so.”

Bernie stood, paced at the foot of the bed for several seconds before jamming her hands into the pockets of her jeans and looking up at the ceiling. It was to the ceiling that she said, “It’s always been a little bit of a problem.” 

_Finally_ , Serena thought. Some progress. 

“What has?”

“Um,” Bernie said. She looked down at the carpet. “Issues with appetite.” 

“Appetite,” Serena echoed.

“And, uh. Well one could say it was… overly… voracious.” Bernie looked over her shoulder at nothing, at the door. She was thinking about running. Serena leaned forward, grabbed the front of her wrinkled blouse and held her in place. Bernie looked down at Serena’s hand. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Serena said. “My only concern is you trying to hide it from me.”

Bernie finally looked at Serena again. “There are things I can do to… try to… manage it so you don’t… have to be concerned about that.”

Serena had to take a few moments to process that. She swallowed and said, “What kind of things?”

“Serena,” Bernie said helplessly. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“If you can’t talk about it with me, then who?” Serena asked.

“No one, preferably, ever,” Bernie said. 

Serena so far had been sitting on the foot of the bed, watching Bernie squirm and pace like a caged animal, but now she leaned back, scooted up so she was leaning against the headboard. She got comfortable as Bernie continued to work herself into a nervous tizzy. 

“Do you touch yourself?” Serena asked in a soft voice. 

Bernie shot her a dark look, half danger, half something else. It was the something else Serena was interested in. 

“How much?” Serena asked. “How often?”

“Don’t do this,” Bernie said. 

“Toys?” Serena asked. “A little buzzy friend?” 

Bernie crossed her arms.

“Friends?” Serena said. 

Bernie was red faced now, flushed and maybe a little upset with Serena but Serena had shagged her enough now to know that she was turned on, too. 

“Why do you think I wouldn’t want to be a part of that?” Serena asked. “I could watch.”

Bernie stilled, staring at Serena from under her fringe. 

“I could help,” Serena said. “Hold your toy or… I read about these things online. They have harnesses? To hold the toy so you can-”

Bernie broke then, crawling up the bed and covering Serena’s body with her own. She kissed hard, forcing her tongue into Serena’s mouth, palming her breast roughly, jamming her thigh between Serena’s legs. Serena smirked into the kiss; Serena didn’t mind the roughness.

Only later, when Bernie had calmed down again and Serena herself was drowsy and sated, did she remember her original objective. 

“Bernie,” Serena murmured, reaching across the mattress blindly and patting the skin she found. 

Bernie grunted. 

“What if we planned for a day,” Serena said, cracking one eye. Bernie was sprawled out, one foot hanging off the side of the bed, eyes squeezed shut. 

“What?”

“A whole day uninterrupted that we spend in bed,” Serena said. “Just you and me and whatever else we might bring along.” 

Bernie’s eyes opened at this and she pushed up onto her elbow so she could look at Serena.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Bernie said. 

“I’m thinking we could go away for a night even,” Serena carried on. “And we could just… indulge. You know, go until you say stop.”

Bernie’s stone faced expression did nothing to deter Serena. 

“Shall I arrange the schedule? Give us a couple of days? Book somewhere?” Serena asked, rolling over onto her back. Bernie’s eyes flickered down, back up to Serena’s face. 

“Are you sure… that’s what you’d want to do?” Bernie asked. 

“Go away with you?” Serena chuckled. 

“Well,” Bernie said. “It’s easy to say that you’d want to… all day but I think in practice… I’m just afraid it could be more than you bargained for.” 

As if to illustrate her discomfort at the notion of doing anything Serena wouldn’t want to do, she reached down and pulled the sheet up over her, tucking it under her arms. 

“You think I’m too old, Ms. Wolfe?” Serena asked. “Too tired?”

“No, I-”

Serena reached out, yanked the sheet back down, exposing Bernie’s lean frame.

“Again, right now,” Serena demanded, rolling toward her until their bodies were pressed together once more. “I’ll show you who can’t keep up.” 

And she reached between Bernie’s legs to find her still very wet, indeed. 

oooo

So now here they are, checking into an expensive and highly rated hotel only thirty miles away from Serena’s house. Serena has a rolling suitcase that holds their clothes and their toiletries for their overnight stay. Bernie has a black canvas bag that holds other things. 

Bernie has been exceptionally quiet today which is truly saying something because she’s not a notoriously chatty woman. Serena has allowed her brooding silence, spending the short drive humming along to the radio. It’s a beautiful day, sunny and clear and not too cold but Serena feels no qualms about missing out on the fair weather entirely. 

Still, Bernie drives with the window cracked, the air ruffling her hair. 

Sometimes Serena is so attracted to her that it gives her a physical pain. A pang in her chest. A throbbing that carries through her toes, her kneecaps, her back teeth. 

“I love you,” Serena says when Bernie finds an empty spot in the carpark, pulls in and shuts the engine down. She’s about to open her door to get out when Serena blurts it out.

Bernie looks at her, surprised. 

“I love you too,” she says. “So much.” 

Serena grins. 

Bernie smirks back. 

Serena feels much better about the day after that, flirts with the young man who holds open the door for them to enter, the pretty woman behind the desk as they check in. Bernie hangs back, examining the lobby decor, the drooping ficus and furniture in tasteful neutrals. She’s looking at a wooden display of glossy brochures touting varying attractions for tourists when Serena returns to her side with a plastic keycard. 

“Something you want to see while we’re here?” Serena asks lightly. 

“Nope,” Bernie says. 

Serena has been intimate with Bernie enough times now that she’s officially lost count, but riding up to the seventh floor in the lift, she feels a bit like it’s their first time. She’s been turned on all day, just with the anticipation of it all. Bernie notices her shifting her weight at smiles at Serena’s reflection in the mirrored lift door. 

The lift announces, “Seventh floor.” 

“Lead the way,” Bernie says. 

The room isn’t huge, but the bed is. Serena pokes her head into the loo and is pleased to see that the huge bathtub she paid extra for is in fact there. There’s a large television set inside of a set of cupboards. Serena pulls them closed as Bernie sets her bag down on the small round table and looks around. 

“Nice view,” she mentions before pulling the sheer curtains closed to diffuse the bright morning light. 

Serena had also paid extra for a morning check in. It’s not that early, only just past eleven. They’d stopped briefly for coffee and pastry and Serena had eaten hers slowly, in little nibbles, stomach a little too fluttery for much food. The hotel has round the clock room service, should they get hungry later. She gets the feeling they won’t want to go out. Serena lifts the suitcase onto the provided luggage rack and then tucks the do not disturb sign on the the handle of the door. 

It clicks shut and she turns to face Bernie who is watching her with her hands crammed into her pockets. 

“Listen,” Bernie says. “We can do… whatever we want to do. There’s no… agenda.”

“This day is about you,” Serena says. “Stop trying to push the responsibility back onto me. All I’m going to do today is follow your lead.” 

Bernie rolls her eyes, holds up both her hands and says, “That makes it all sound so serious.”

Serena just shrugs, slips off her coat and lays it across the closed suitcase. 

“Tell me how you want me, Ms. Wolfe.”

Serena is serious about following orders, though she has a moment of being grateful that Bernie doesn’t direct her straight into the bath or shower. She’d spent some time on her makeup this morning, getting it just how she wanted it. She’d brought it up with Morven a few weeks ago when she’d been planning this trip - makeup, not the sex - and Morven had introduced her to a spray that held everything into place.

“Like hairspray for your face,” Morven had said. “That’s why I make it to the end of my shift without getting all smudgy.”

Serena is keen to find out how many rounds she can make it before she starts looking a mess. 

Bernie has her lie down. Bernie stands at the foot of the bed and eases off Serena’s shoes, removes her socks. 

Serena has one moment of weakness when she says, “This is what you want, right? You want to be here?”

“I want you,” Bernie says, crawling onto the bed with her, barefoot and down to a thin t-shirt and her tight jeans. “I always want you. It’s… I thought maybe in time it would start to fade but…” She shakes her head. “Embarrassing, really.”

Serena reaches out and tangles their fingers. “I know just what you mean.”

It’s not very different, the first time. It’s sweet and gentle, really. Making love in the daytime is a bit of a luxury and Serena is struck by how attractive Bernie truly is. How her waist nips in just there, the sharp relief of her pelvic bone, her pale hair, her soft skin. 

“God,” Serena moans at one point, her mouth against Bernie’s ribs. She’s taking a slow, leisurely trip south with many detours. Bernie doesn’t seem to mind. “I’m so much gayer than I thought I was.”

Bernie’s laughter is a loud, dry bark that makes Serena giggle. 

“To my immense benefit,” Bernie says. “To my unfathomable good fortune.”

Serena finally arrives to her destination and spends a long time building Bernie up slowly. She slips her tongue inside of her, presses her nose against Bernie’s swollen clit. Feels the gush every time she does something Bernie particularly likes. Bernie takes it for a long time, the gentle pace that Serena sets, longer than Serena herself would have been able to stand it. But Serena is greedy and impatient and Bernie has spent her lifetime in wait. So it stands to reason. 

But once Serena stops lapping at Bernie’s clit with her tongue and instead sucks at it, something breaks in Bernie’s apparently not-so-infinite well of reserve and Serena feels Bernie’s hands in her hair, Bernie pushes her hips into Serena’s face, Bernie makes a noise of impatience through gritted teeth. 

“Please,” she gasps. “Please, I’ve got to.”

Serena happily pushes her over, slides two fingers into her and increases the suction and Bernie cries out raggedly, her back arching, her whole body rigid. 

But when Bernie applies light pressure to the top of Serena’s head, the universal gesture for _enough_ , Serena ignores that.

She can get another out of Bernie, she’s sure of it. Another right on the heels of the first. Bernie’s the insatiable one after all. 

“Serena!” Bernie says when she doesn’t let up. 

Serena makes the two fingers three, goes back to laving at Bernie’s sensitive clit with her tongue. Bernie tries to squirm out of it for a moment, but when Serena curls her fingers - already a tight fit - Bernie gasps and spreads her legs wider. 

It’s not even difficult to tease the second orgasm out. In fact, it happens so quickly that Serena feels daft for not having done this before, feels like maybe she could just keep Bernie coming and coming all morning long. Or at least until her jaw hurts too badly. Her lips are buzzy and numb, her chin is dripping. 

Bernie laughs nervously, manages to squirm out of Serena’s grasp because she is strong. 

“You’ll kill me,” she says, bringing her knees together, scooting to the other side of the bed. 

Serena wipes her mouth with her hand, wipes her hand on the sheets. “This is what you wanted I thought.”

Bernie says, “I want a lot of things.”

Bernie spends some time kissing Serena, kissing her lips and her chin and the tip of her nose. Both cheeks, both bare shoulders, the back of her neck. Bernie murmurs that Serena is so clever, that she’s beautiful, that her skin is amazing, that she’s so wet, that Bernie loves to touch her. 

Bernie has Serena get onto her knees and then sit upright. Bernie stays behind her, pressing her chest into Serena’s back and reaches around to touch her. Serena’s head falls back onto Bernie’s shoulder and it gives Bernie the most stunning view. Serena is all torso, the expanse from her neck to her wide hips is so long and Bernie stares down it, the perfect breasts, the stretch of pale skin to where her hand is working between Serena’s legs. 

“Jesus,” Serena is moaning. There’s something good about the angle, about the stretch. 

Bernie’s height is all in her leg, so maybe Serena lusts after her legs in the same way Bernie lusts after her torso. You always want what you don’t have. 

Serena’s comes right onto Bernie’s hand, gripping hard at the arm Bernie has across her chest. 

Serena melts back against her, whimpering a little, on the edge of tears and Bernie holds her up. 

“Let’s take a break,” Bernie says kindly. Serena can only move her head slightly in what she hopes Bernie interprets as a nod. 

Bernie runs a bath and then helps Serena walk on wobbly legs from the bed to the bathroom. Sits her on the toilet and turns her back to give her an illusion of privacy. When she’s done, Bernie helps her into the water. 

“You too,” Serena murmurs.

“I’m going to order something for lunch and then I promise I’ll join you,” Bernie says.

The digital clock on the nightstand says it’s 1:30 and she picks up the phone and orders pasta, figures if they’re going to have a true marathon, they may as well carbo load. She also instructs them to leave it outside and knock. 

Serena is flushed from the heat of the water, among other things, and her eyes are closed. 

“You know,” Bernie says.

“I don’t want to stop,” Serena says. “We’re just having a small break.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Yes, you were,” Serena says. “Now get in here.” 

Bernie steps in, hissing a little at the heat and then lies back carefully, tucking herself in between Serena’s legs and lying back against her. Serena holds her, kisses her head. 

oooo

After they scrub clean - turns out no makeup setting spray could stand up to spending so long eating Bernie out - and eat the lunch left for them in the hall, Serena says, “I’d like to see what’s in that bag of yours.”

Bernie had also ordered a bottle of champagne and she sputters over her glass now. 

“Oh, stop,” Serena says. “I know it’s not full of bibles.” 

“No,” Bernie says.

“Is it your personal collection or did you get new things?” Serena presses. Bernie is always amazed at how matter of fact Serena is about sex. Like she’d missed the day growing up spent on English reserve. 

“Um,” Bernie says. “Both.”

“You’re turning red,” Serena cackles. “You just shagged me for two hours straight and then watched me pee and you’re still embarrassed?”

“It’s just…” Bernie crosses her arms in the white robe the hotel provided. “Not discussed.” 

“Okay, not over an open body in the theatre, sure, but here?” Serena says. She’s in the matching robe but had gotten a little overheated from the bath so she wears her more loosely. Bernie keeps getting distracted by the deep vee of skin. Just the hint of the curve of her breast. 

“I… I’m trying,” she says. 

Serena relents and says, “I know, darling.” Smiles softly and says, "I’ll sort this out, you open the bag, hmm?”

Serena cleans up their lunch things by getting everything back onto the cart and pushing it back into the hall, except for the champagne which she keeps.

Bernie moves the bag to the chair and clears off the little round table of hotel paraphernalia. Sets things out one by one. Serena stands just behind her, peers over her shoulder. 

Bernie prefers vibrators that are smooth and brightly colored. Serena is not surprised that nothing looks like a real penis. That is, after all, not what they are here for. Most things Serena recognizes right away. Three different vibrators, two phallic ones and one that is small and round - more discreet. A pair of soft handcuffs. Serena will use those if it’s what Bernie wants, but otherwise has no real interest in being restrained. 

And then there’s that. 

“What-”

“That’s the new thing,” Bernie says. 

“But what-”

“You mentioned a harness,” Bernie says. “But this is designed to do the same thing without the straps.”

“Is it?” Serena asks. 

“I know you have sensitive skin and I didn’t want… anything to irritate it,” Bernie says. “Anyway, this side is designed to go inside… the wearer and the long end for penetration.” She glanced at Serena over her shoulder. “Completely optional, not an obligation.” 

“That’s very clever,” Serena says. 

“I’m just of the mind that the less hardware the better,” Bernie says. 

“I want to try it,” Serena says. 

“Yeah?” Bernie says, a little surprised. “I brought plenty of lubrication.”

“Can I… to you?” Serena asks. 

“Oh,” Bernie says, her eyebrows jumping up. “I figured…”

“What, that you get to be the man?” Serena says.

“No one is the man, that’s the point,” Bernie says. 

“You’re the insatiable one,” Serena says, stepping up close, pressing their bodies together and reaching past Bernie to grip the toy. “Don’t you want me to fuck you, Ms. Wolfe?”

Bernie exhales sharply, nods once. 

oooo

Bernie cleans the toy, pats it dry with a towel, sets it aside to warm Serena up with kisses. Serena still gets quite wet on her own, does a little better than Bernie even, but she’s tender now from the first round and Bernie has her lie back. Serena watches her coat the toy generously in lube before easing it into Serena. She’s impressed with how steady handed and calm Bernie seems because Serena can tell she’s on edge, aroused and impatient. 

It feels strange to have something so large inside her, but it’s not a bad feeling at all. She feels, actually, a little ridiculous to see so much of the toy sticking out of her but Bernie just says, “Oh, Serena,” and gives the extruding shaft a little tug which makes Serena squirm with pleasure. Bernie strokes the other side now, her hand spreading the lubrication there too and it feels obscene to watch, though she wouldn’t look away for anything. 

Finally, Bernie lies back, spreads her legs and Serena awkwardly navigates between them, wondering how men do this with any finesse and then wondering if they don’t but she’s always been too distracted to notice. 

She rubs the tip over Bernie’s lips, nudging it into her clit several times. Bernie watches her with dark eyes, flickering between Serena’s face and what’s happening between them. 

“Tell me if I hurt you,” Serena says softly and then pushes the head of the toy in. When Bernie doesn’t protest, she adds more pressure and the toy sinks in, which in turn pushes it deeper into Serena. 

“Good lord,” Bernie says. 

It’s not one hundred percent selfless, this time they’re taking. Serena has arranged it for Bernie, to make sure she’s happy and fulfilled, to keep her around for a good long while, but so far it’s not been much of a hardship for Serena. She has gotten tired but at no point thought that it might all be a little bit much for her.

Until now. Because she’d taken the shorter end of the proverbial stick in order to pleasure Bernie, to satisfy her, to tire her out. But she has miscalculated. The curve of the toy on her end drives into her g-spot with every thrust. And the part that serves as the base for Bernie’s side is textured. Serena’s clit drags across it as she moves. 

It is the _best_ agony. 

The only reason Serena doesn’t come right away is a combination of having come so much already and sheer determination that Bernie get the most out of the experience. Serena bites back her own moans, screwing her own eyes shut, thinking of anything else. The backlog of patient charts waiting for her. AAU on a bad day. Their office. Bernie in their office, her hair aglow from the morning sun.

Shit. 

Bernie seems to be enjoying herself, too, grunting with each thrust, wrapping her legs tightly around Serena, sliding her hands everywhere, managing a stream of what almost sounds like words. The beginning of words, maybe. _Fu… Yes… Mor… Ser… Gah…_ and on like that. 

Serena can feel herself sweating now, can feel the slow burn of the build picking up speed now. They’re both so drenched that the toy feels slippery, she’s afraid to pull out too far because it might dislodge them both. It works pretty good without the harness, but she thinks for the next time - god, she hopes there is a next time - they might give the full harness a try.

“I… I want…” Bernie says.

“Tell me,” Serena whispers.

“I want to try it with me on top,” Bernie says. The words make Serena clench hard, she can’t help the whimper that escapes.

“Okay,” she says. She has to reach down to hold the thing in place as she pulls it out of Bernie and then she holds it as she flips onto her back.

“This is good,” Bernie says, throwing her knee across Serena as she moves to perch on the toy. “I like this one.” 

Serena realizes that in holding back, she must have been slowing down, trying to keep herself on the edge of the cliff because when Bernie mounts her, when she slides the toy back inside of herself with a noise of pure delight, she starts to move fast and hard. 

The orgasm hits Serena with all the finesse of a freight train. There’s simply no hiding it, it rips through her, she screams a little and Bernie doesn’t slow, just watches her with her mouth open and her eyes glassy.

“You were that close?” she asks Serena who is not currently functioning at a level high enough to produce words. Bernie still doesn’t slow down and Serena can already feel the next one come. The grind on her clit is relentless. Serena blinks, sees Bernie reach for her own breasts, twist her own nipples, her head falling back. “So good,” she manages. 

Serena feels another fluttering climax, not as strong this time, but overwhelming just the same. 

She reaches out blindly, manages to press her thumb against Bernie’s clit. Bernie whimpers, her head falling forward, her hair in her eyes.

“Come on,” Serena says encouragingly. “I’ve got you, come on.” 

_Please_ , she thinks. _Put me out of my misery._

Bernie does come, then falls forward against Serena, breathing hard into her neck. After a few moments, she lifts her hips and the toy slips out of her. Serena pushes Bernie off of her, reaches between her own legs and eases the toy out. Tosses it to the floor.

“Christ,” she manages.

“Yeah,” Bernie says sounding quite blissed out. “I could do that ten more times.”

Serena realizes she’s going to have to admit defeat. 

oooo

“I think my uterus is sore,” Serena says. “Too much contracting.”

“Oh,” Bernie says. They’re out of the shower now, waiting on their dinner. Serena had slept for a bit also, before Bernie got her cleaned up, rebundled in her robe and is now sitting with her back against the headboard, Serena’s head in her lap. Bernie is stroking her damp hair. “I didn’t mean to break you with orgasms.”

“Yes you did,” Serena mutters.

“Some people like being broken in that specific way,” Bernie says. “Not for everyone, though.” 

“I’m so sorry I let you down,” Serena mutters, pressing her face into Bernie’s warm, clean smelling thigh. 

“You didn’t,” Bernie says. “I loved it. Every moment. I would have never done this with anyone else. Or admitted to… wanting it.” She bends over and kisses Serena’s forehead. “You’re too good for me, Serena Campbell.”

“You’re not going to get bored with me?” Serena asks. 

“Never,” Bernie says. “Besides, you did offer to watch. We could always try that.”

Serena can’t believe it, but she squirms all the same, a bolt of heat running through her at the thought. She didn’t know her body was capable, honestly. 

“We could,” Serena agrees. “We definitely could.” 

Bernie pats her shoulder. “Tomorrow, my love.”

Serena closes her eyes. “Okay.”


	19. i'd like to be my old self again, but i'm still trying to find it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said: _My prompt has fewer swears if you're still taking prompts!: When Serena's mother dies, she discovers an unexpected secret from Adrienne's effects. Yup - that's right - Serena has inherited a haunted house (in the sleepy little seaside town of Holby). The locals are an odd bunch, but one woman - whose mysterious past seems connected to Serena's new fixer-upper - catches her particular attention... (Creepy old house AU!!)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeeeeah this was a real cute scooby-doo prompt and what i wrote was sad and canon compliant (sorry, elinor). so, i mean. if it weren't for those rascally kids...

“You have a message,” Bernie says, looking up at Serena as she comes in from the garden. “A law firm called.” 

“What?” Serena asks. She’s still got her big straw hat on, her gloves on. She has a little half apron with pockets that she wears. She’s got seed packets in it, a small trowel. Her knees are muddy. Gardening is just a hobby with Serena but there’s nothing that she approaches halfway. 

Bernie thinks her gardening outfit is adorable but keeps the comment to herself. Doesn’t want a lecture on how each piece is necessary and if you have to have something, it may as well be cute. 

“They wouldn’t say what it was for. I wrote down the information,” Bernie says, sliding the notebook they keep by the phone toward her. “I popped my head out but I couldn’t see you.”

“Yeah, I went next door to talk to Mr. Roberts about the fence again,” she says, looking down at Bernie’s scrawled notes. She frowns.

“What is it?” Bernie asks.

“This is the firm that handled my mother’s estate,” Serena says. “It must have to do with her.”

“She passed away years ago, I thought.” 

“A few now,” Serena agrees. “I’ll give them a ring, I suppose.”

Bernie doesn’t see her do it though, and by the time they crawl into bed together that evening, the only thing Bernie has on her mind is Serena’s warm and sun-kissed skin. 

oooo

Bernie offers to go with her when Serena says she has to go down to the Law Firm’s offices. She’s leaving work a little early to do so.

“I was right, it’s about mum, but they wouldn’t say what over the phone,” she says. Serena seems more irritated than curious. They’ve talked only a little about Serena’s mother. Bernie knows it wasn’t good at the end, but as someone with a whole treasure trove of secrets she’d rather not share, she knows better than to push her finger into that particular bruise.

Serena will open up when she’s ready. That’s what Serena does. 

“Shall I come along?” Bernie asks lightly.

“I wish you could, but we can’t both leave,” Serena says. “I intend to come back if it doesn’t take long, but if I don’t, I’ll call you and let you know.” 

“I’ll hold down the fort, then,” Bernie says, always eager to ease Serena’s load where she can. Always striving not to be a burden. 

Serena never does come back to work. Doesn’t call either, though she sees a text as she’s changing out of her scrubs that says Serena will see her at home. That she’s making yellow curry for dinner and could Bernie stop and get a carton of half and half for the morning?

Bernie gladly stops to pick that up.

Technically, Bernie doesn’t live here. She’s never officially moved in. She still keeps a studio flat - cheap for rent though expensive for a storage unit, which is all that she uses it for. She sleeps there maybe twice a month. Most of her clothes and toiletries and shoes are at Serena’s now. But Serena hasn’t asked her to move in all the way and Bernie’s not going to be the one to bring it up.

Still, it’s a foregone conclusion that Bernie will come home to Serena every night unless it is discussed beforehand. She buys the dairy for their morning coffee, and a sack of apples because she knows they’re out. Bernie likes an apple for her mid-morning snack. The crunch keeps her awake, the sweetness a natural energy boost. 

When she comes in, Serena’s already in the kitchen at the stove, cooking dinner. Jason isn’t in front of the television so either he’s out or he’s upstairs. That mystery is quickly solved when Bernie spies three place settings at the dining table. Serena allows Bernie to lean in and kiss her cheek and then watches her put the apples into the hanging basket. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me about my meeting?”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Bernie asks.

Serena narrows her eyes at her.

“All right, all right,” Bernie says. “Weapons down. I just meant I didn’t know if you were waiting for Jason so you didn’t have to say it twice.”

Serena purses her lips and says, “Oh. Okay, that is a better idea.” 

“I can wait,” Bernie promises. “As long as everything is all right? Nothing bad?”

“No,” Serena assures her. 

Bernie goes upstairs while Serena finishes cooking. She’s only ever in the way when dinner is this far along. She showers quickly, lets the hot water melt the day away. The hours in theatre, the ward rounds, the paperwork, the smell of antiseptic gel and blood. She towel dries her hair, puts on a pair of sweats and a old, raggedy jumper and comes down just as Jason is helping Serena carry everything to the table. Serena has already placed a half glass of white wine at Bernie’s seat. 

Bernie’s heart swells for a moment. She’s always in disbelief that this is her life. That she’d wanted something so ardently and then, somehow, gotten it. 

Once they’re seated, plated up and tucking in, Serena says, “It seems as if we have inherited a house.” 

Bernie’s fork stops halfway to her mouth and even Jason stills, glancing first at Bernie to verify that confusion and surprise is the appropriate emotional response before looking back to his aunt.

“How?” Jason asks finally.

“I went to a meeting today with my mother’s estate lawyer and apparently she owns a property that I didn’t know about. She did a lot of things I didn’t know about, as it turns out,” Serena says, reaching out and patting Jason’s arm. “There were some stipulations that had to happen before I was to be informed.”

“Such as?” Bernie asks.

“There was someone living in it,” Serena says. “A friend of hers that she’d made an agreement with. And now that person has, uh, passed on, so the house has become mine. Ours,” she corrects, looking at Jason. Looks at Bernie too.

“Where is it?” Bernie asks. 

“The village,” Serena says. “Apparently it’s got a view of the sea. A little cottage.” 

“I was born in Holby Village,” Jason comments. 

“Were you?” Serena asks. “I didn’t know that.” 

“We lived there until I was six,” he says. “Then we moved to Holby City because the school was better and I was quite bright, though needed some help.” 

Bernie likes his matter of fact approach to his own situation. “Very clever of your mum to get you the best help,” she says. 

“I agree,” he says.

“Serena,” Bernie says. “What are you going to do with it?” 

“I don’t know,” Serena says. “I’ve not even seen it yet. I’ve gotten the deed and some keys but apparently it needs some work. I guess I ought to go see it.”

“We could all go,” Bernie says. “At the weekend, maybe?”

Serena nods slowly. “I’d like that.”

“What about you, Jason?” Serena says. “Would you come with us?”

“That’s only four days away,” Jason hedges. 

“Not a lot of notice,” Bernie says kindly. “But occasionally unpredictable things come along in life.”

“Like when your mum dies,” Jason says. 

“Or your daughter,” Serena agrees softly.

“I should like to see the village again,” Jason says. “I’ll go.”

He tucks back into his dinner. 

Serena stares into her plate for a few long moments, looks up at Bernie when Bernie nudges her leg with her foot. Her eyes are glassy but she doesn’t cry.

oooo

It takes less than an hour to drive into the village but they never go because it’s mostly a trap for tourists on holiday. In the summer it’s crowded and unbearable, in the winter too cold to be bothered with. They are firmly into spring, now, and Bernie is grateful for it. She’d fretted about the anniversary of Elinor’s death for a good three months leading up to it. It had been a hard year, the hardest, maybe of Bernie’s life so she can’t imagine how Serena had survived it but she has. She’s back at work now, some would say back to normal. But Bernie knows she’ll never be back to how she was before, that this is the new normal. That light and carefree Serena from when they’d first started seeing each other is gone for good. 

Bernie loves the Serena she has. Is so grateful to have her at all, that they have weathered the storm together.

And honestly, spring couldn’t have come soon enough. It’s cold, still, but there’s sunshine and green grass and the bulbs have started to push through the soil in fantastically green sprouts. Serena had planted the bulbs in the frozen ground and now is planting the vegetables for a summer harvest when she’s out in the garden. They’ve put away their heavy winter things, switched to macs and umbrellas and lighter scarves. 

It’s raining on the Saturday they’re to go see the house. Bernie drives Serena’s car because the backseat is larger. Jason still complains about sitting back there but Serena tells him that he’s young and the price of youth is sitting in the back. It’s not raining hard, though the rain does pick a bit the closer that they get to the sea. 

The village is still mostly empty this time of year. Some of the shops are open but some are still closed for the season, like the ice cream shop and some of the beachwear ones. The fancy seafood restaurant is open - they plan to go there for lunch. Bernie drives up the high street, following the voice of her navigation system. 

“Any of this looking familiar?” Serena asks Jason.

He squints out the window and says, “I think so.”

They wind their way toward the water and then turn onto the street. Bernie slows down, squinting through the wet windows, trying to see the numbers. 

“It ought to be just up here, I think,” she says. 

“It’s there,” Jason says. “The green one.”

“Are you sure?” Serena asks. 

“Yes,” Jason says. “That’s the house we lived in when I was small.” 

oooo

Needs work turns out to be an understatement. It’s hard to believe anyone has been living here, Bernie thinks to herself, because it’s in no state for human habitation. The roof is leaking in several places and the wood floors are warped because of it. 

Jason and Serena speak quietly to one another for a good long while, drifting around the house. Bernie stays out of it because she feels like she would be intruding. Serena will tell her about it later, Serena is not much for keeping things bottled up. Instead, Bernie pulls out her phone and starts making a list. New roof. Floors redone - whether that means refinishing them or ripping them up she’s not sure. There’s peeling wallpaper and wet just everywhere. They’ll have to take the house down to studs. There’s a stench too, one Bernie knows well enough. Death. Whoever had been living here had been sick for a long time, had wasted away, dying slowly. Not a pretty way to do it. In the kitchen, it seems like most of the appliances are in working order but they’re so old they’ll probably need replacing. 

It isn’t much of a gift, more of a money pit. One more responsibility for Serena to have to shoulder, one more burden her mother had left behind. They could just have the whole thing condemned and torn down. Serena would still make a pretty penny selling off the land. 

It’s the view that’s the best bit. The stretch of sand and sea. 

Serena would make money, too, eventually if she fixed it all and rented it out at absurdly high rates to tourists. But that would take substantially more time and effort and money up front. 

Something creaks, perhaps the wind groaning through windows lacking insulation. But it sounds a bit human, makes Bernie start and the hairs on her arms rise. There’s an office downstairs, three bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. The strange sound has come from the office and Bernie walks toward it, the closed, warped pocket doors, but then she hears feet on the stairs. 

“Time for lunch, I think,” Serena says. 

oooo

It turns out that Serena had made a very similar list to Bernie’s. Bernie turns to Jason to ask him what he thought but Serena subtly shakes her head so Bernie leaves it. Jason orders his meal and then puts on his earbuds, plugs them into his mobile phone and stares into it.

“I think it was a bit overwhelming for him,” Serena says softly. “He was unprepared.”

“And you?” Bernie asks. “How do you feel about it?”

“It was weird enough when it was just a house that had fallen into my lap,” Serena says. “Now I find out it was where my mother was hiding my secret sister? Only miles away from us? I just… don’t understand why she felt she had to have so many secrets from me.”

Bernie straightens out her knife and shrugs. “People have secrets for all sorts of reasons, whether wrong or right.” Serena just hums and rests her chin on her hand. “What did you think of the house?”

“I think fixing it up would be a full time job in and of itself,” she says. “I was all set to come see it and figure out how to get rid of it.”

“But now?” she asks.

“Now? It’s as much Jason’s as it is mine. Moreso,” Serena says. “I told him we can sell it and set the money aside for when I’m gone or fix it up for him to live in again one day.”

“What did he think about that?” Bernie asks.

“He was very upset at the notion of being without me,” Serena says. “I should have been more sensitive to how I phrased it. Anyway, no decision has been made so…”

“You don’t have to decide today. Both are good ideas,” Bernie says. “You have a good heart, Serena Campbell.”

“I wish my mother would have thought so,” Serena says.

Bernie takes her hand, gives it a squeeze. 

When the food comes, Jason removes his earbuds to eat but does not participate in the conversation except to say, “Pass the salt, please,” to Bernie. He doesn’t thank her when she does but neither she nor Serena correct him. 

It’s a quiet and tense ride home. Serena flips through the radio stations, never settling on one thing for long. Eventually she tires of this and pushes the button to start whatever CD has been left in the player.

It’s Taylor Swift. 

Bernie works out rather quickly from Serena’s erupting sobs that the disc probably belonged to Elinor. 

She reaches out, turns it off. 

Pulls helplessly to the side of the road and turns back to Jason who has his arms wrapped around himself and is rocking, slightly, in an effort to self soothe. Serena continues to sob into her hands.

Helpless and shaken, Bernie opens the car door, steps out into the rain and decides she’ll have a smoke on the side of the road and then she’ll reevaluate. 

oooo

Bernie still feels a little damp when they pull up to Serena’s though she can’t actually find a place that hasn’t dried off. Maybe she’s just chilled. Jason gets out of the car quickly, his house keys already in his hand and disappears inside before Bernie even has the engine off.

“You’d told me you’d quit,” Serena says sounding tired. 

“I had,” Bernie says. “And then when things got so hard… I slipped up a bit. Now I have them but I still have cut way down.” She sighs. “No one is perfect.” 

“I don’t expect you to be perfect,” Serena says. “I don’t think any of us expected this day to be so hard.”

“I think… I’m not running away, but I think I might go home? Give you and Jason a little space?” Bernie says. 

Serena nods. “Okay.” 

Still, it feels odd to be driving away from them, odd to unlock the door to her dusty flat with it’s comically empty refrigerator and cold, abandoned feel. She flips on some lights, turns on the heat, cracks a window because the heat pumps out burned smelling air at first. 

She changes her clothes, though all her good loungewear is at Serena’s. She settles on a pair of sweats that are too big. In fact, they may have been Marcus’s at one point. She has to roll the waist to keep them on. She finds a t-shirt, a zip up hoodie. She orders delivery and decides to call Cameron while she’s waiting.

“I expected your voicemail,” she says when he answers.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“No,” she says. “Not at all what I meant. How are you? How’s London?”

“I’m fine,” he says. “London is fine. It’s still here.”

“Are you busy?” she asks. “Have you got friends?”

“I work mostly,” he says. “I’m working now but I’m on my meal break.” He doesn’t answer her question about friends. 

“Well, we miss you,” she says. 

“All of Holby City?” he says. “That’s quite flattering.” 

“Me and Serena and Jason,” she says. “The friends you made here.” She pauses. “You could always come back.”

“I know that,” he says. 

“How about a visit?” she says. “Could I entice you for that? A weekend maybe?”

“You know it’s hard to get away,” he says. “I’ll look at my diary.” 

“Just think about it,” she says. “Anyway, I won’t keep you. I know you’ve got to get back.” 

“Ask Lottie,” Cameron suggests. “She’s just through her midterms. She might like to be doted on by Serena for a night or two.”

“You think she’d come?” Bernie asks. 

“I think she thinks I’m your favorite because you’re so scared of her that you only ever talk to me,” he says.

It hurts. The sting of truth. 

“Thanks,” Bernie says. “Delivered with grace and kindness.”

“I just call ‘em as I see ‘em, Ms. Wolfe,” he says. “Bye mum. Love you.”

“I love you, too,” she says. 

Her dinner arrives, she pays for it and finds one can of Diet Coke in the door of the refrigerator and it feels like striking gold. Pops it open and eats her dinner with the television off. Is Jason watching one of his shows or is he still locked up in his room, processing this strange day?

She’d know if she hadn’t gone home. 

She calls Charlotte so she’s not a coward twice over.

“Hello?” Charlotte answers.

Both of her children have answered when she called - she should buy a lottery ticket. 

“Hi,” Bernie says.

“Hi mum,” she says. 

She doesn’t know what to say, really, so she just blurts what she wants and says, “I was thinking maybe you could come home for easter.” 

She hears the sound of a car door slam and then it sounds like she’s walking. “Come home,” she says. “Would that be to dad’s house or to your one bedroom flat?”

Bernie winces, looks at the phone. It’s been forty seconds, this conversation. Not their record for hostility, but not a vast improvement either. 

“You could stay with me,” she says. “We could stay with Serena. I could book a hotel room for the night and we could stay there together.”

“Oh,” Charlotte says. “Actually… you’d do that?”

“Sure,” Bernie says. For Charlotte, she’ll do anything. She doesn’t say so. “If that’s what you want.”

“Can I let you know?” she says.

“Yes,” Bernie says.

“Okay,” Charlotte says. “Hug Serena for me. I’m just going into work so…”

“Text me about easter,” Bernie says. “Love you, lovebug.”

Charlotte laughs at the old nickname. 

“Bye,” she says. 

oooo

Serena and Jason decide to keep the house. Serena tells her this as they ride the lift up to AAU. Bernie had slept badly and then texted Serena quite early that she’d pick her up for work. She’d spent all Sunday at home, tidying and buying groceries and making a recipe she’d picked up in Ukraine. She and Serena don’t talk about that time much so it’s not something she’d make when Serena is around.

She’d spent all Sunday thinking Serena would text or call but she hadn’t. Bernie had slept an unprecedented two night in a row in her own flat. 

Serena had been fine with the ride this morning, though she stays quiet for the duration of it. She’d kissed Bernie at the door of her house, had said that it was good to see her and that seemed real enough. 

“We’re going to keep the house,” she says now as they ascend. “Fix it up.”

“Okay,” Bernie says. 

“We talked about it for a long time,” she says. “I think it’s the right thing to do.”

Bernie reaches out, touches the back of Serena’s hand. Serena smiles at her. 

“You’ll come home tonight, though, won’t you?” Serena asks. 

“Yes,” Bernie says, relief shooting through her like a drug.

oooo

Bernie ends up booking the hotel for Charlotte in the village. She books two rooms. Serena has arranged to go to the house, has arranged to meet with some builders, an electrician, roofers, she’s got a whole day of appointments planned. It makes no difference to Charlotte, so they pick her up from the train station and drive into the village.

Charlotte looks so good, so beautiful and healthy. Her hair is dyed platinum but she’s got about half an inch of ashy blonde roots. She’s got makeup on, not too much and big silver hoop earrings. Jeans and a floral patterned t-shirt, a denim coat. She only has a purse and her backpack but Bernie remembers being so young and pretty that all you needed was a toothbrush and a clean shirt. 

Bernie hugs her and Charlotte goes a little stiff but hugs her back, patting her on her shoulder blade.

“Hi,” she says. “Where’s Serena?”

“In the car,” Bernie says, trying to take the backpack. 

“Mum,” Charlotte says chidingly. “You had spine surgery, I have it.”

“I’m well healed from that,” Bernie says. “Good as new.”

Serena waves from the car when she sees them approaching. Rolls down the window and calls hello. It’s a beautiful day, blindingly sunny, perfect for the kind of appointments Serena has. It’s still chilly when not in the direct sunlight but still lovely.

“Hi,” Charlotte says, climbing into the back seat and buckling in. “How are- I mean… how is it going?”

Serena’s seen Charlotte twice - at Christmas and at Elinor’s funeral. 

“Good,” Serena says. “Thank you for being flexible with your visit.”

“No bother,” Charlotte says.

Serena spends most of the drive chatting, explaining about the house. Talking about the village, the things she and Bernie could do to occupy their time.

“Should we go to the hotel first or the house?” Bernie asks when they get close. “What time is your first appointment?”

“Hotel first,” she says. “We’ll check in and either I can take the car or you can drop me off if you think you’ll want it?”

But the hotel is in the middle of it all so Bernie doesn’t think they’ll want to do anything that isn’t in walking distance. 

Bernie asks Charlotte about her classes. She’s studying literature now, makes a joke about trying to balance out a family of scientists. 

“One of us has to learn how to have feelings,” she says and Serena laughs so loudly that Bernie is slightly offended. 

“I feel things,” Bernie says sniffing. “I just don’t go on about it.” 

Charlotte snorts but says nothing.

The hotel is small, but charming and mostly empty because it’s still the off season. Charlotte trails behind them, looking at her phone. Bernie steps away to speak to the front desk about getting the rooms but when she turns back to Serena and Charlotte, she can see that Serena is smiling. Serena reaches out to touch Charlotte’s arm.

It occurs to Bernie now, only just right in this very moment, that spending the weekend with Charlotte might be difficult for Serena because of Elinor. 

“Your credit card, ma’am?” The man behind the desk asks. She turns back but the panic must be on her face because he furrows his brow at her. 

“Yes,” she says, digging into her purse, her cheeks hot. “Sorry, yes.” 

When she has the room keys, she approaches them warily but they both seem fine. 

“Serena says you need new work clothes,” Charlotte says. 

“I wear scrubs at work,” Bernie says, momentarily confused.

“And the same three blouses and the same one pair of black trousers,” Serena says. “You have a whole day to burn, Berenice, may as well do something useful.”

“Oooh, Berenice,” Charlotte says and sniggers. “You’re in for it now.” 

“For you,” Bernie says sternly, handing Charlotte a keycard. She hands the other to Serena.

“And whose bed will you be sharing, Ms. Wolfe?” Serena asks. 

“Um,” Bernie says. She hadn’t really thought about that - originally she was meant to stay in the hotel room with Charlotte but that was before this excursion had moved to the village and now Serena is here so…

“I’ll have her for the waking hours,” Charlotte says, shouldering her pack. “After dark she’s yours.” 

And off she goes toward the lifts. Bernie looks at Serena who gives her a small, saucy smile.

oooo

Serena leaves them and they decide to find a coffee and have a nibble. They find a small cafe and sit at a small table, warm drinks and a scone to share between them.

“Thank you for coming,” Bernie says sincerely. 

“Eh,” Charlotte says. “I like a hotel.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” she says. “That’s why I tried to deflect it with a joke.”

“What happened to being the one member of the family who was good at feelings?” Bernie asks. 

“I’ve not graduated yet!” Charlotte says. “But I know you’ve had a shit year so, it’s fine. Happy to come.”

“Through the worst of it now, maybe,” Bernie says, but isn’t sure she believes it. Not sure there’s a through it at all. She thinks they just carry it with them, the heavy weight of the loss, and get a little stronger from bearing the load over time. Anyway. “I like your hair.”

“Dad told me I looked like a prostitute,” Charlotte says, breaking off a piece of scone. 

“Did he?” Bernie asks. “I don’t think so.” 

“Cheers, then,” she says. “Dad is…”

“I know.”

“I mean it’s been… a while now but he’s still so angry about it all. And I get it it, I was mad too but I can’t just be mad forever because that’s… rather stupid. And unsustainable.” Charlotte shrugs. “He started seeing this new lady for awhile, but Cam told him she looked like you and then he went mental, he was _so_ mad but she did, mum, she was tall like you and blonde and it was so weird.” 

This is the most Charlotte has opened up to her since she hit her teens. 

“Well,” Bernie says carefully. “I suppose people have a type.” 

“I don’t think she was gay,” Charlotte says.

“Neither did I,” Bernie quips.

Charlotte leans in, narrows her eyes. “Liar.”

The shops are overpriced but Bernie dutifully wanders through them with her daughter who points out pretty blouses and structured jackets and an aubergine pencil skirt that would probably look quite smart on Bernie but that she’d never, ever wear. 

“Pick something,” Bernie says as they linger by a display of handbags. “I’ll buy you something.”

“I don’t need a handbag,” Charlotte says.

“Something else, then,” Bernie says. 

“Hmm,” Charlotte says. She keeps moving, finally stopping in front of a wrap blouse in a pretty slate grey. She reaches out, flips through the rack and pulls one out.

“You want that?” Bernie says.

“No, for you,” Charlotte says. “We can’t go back empty handed. Serena was quite clear. She’s kind of scary.”

“Kind of,” Bernie agrees, reaching out to rub the material between her fingers. 

She buys the blouse and for Charlotte, a pink lipstick from Charlotte Tilbury. The lipstick is nearly as much as the blouse, but Charlotte puts it into her purse with a little smile. 

Says, “Thank you.”

oooo

Serena meets them for a late lunch at the restaurant next to the hotel. She looks exhausted; there’s a hard line between her eyes.

“Come on, then,” Charlotte says when they spot her. “Order her some wine.”

Bernie doesn’t tell Charlotte that it’s best not to let Serena lean on alcohol during hard times, a lesson learned the hard way. 

“Maybe one glass,” she says instead. 

But Serena doesn’t ask for wine, she asks for coffee, black and hot and strong. 

The house is more of a disaster than they though. Plumbing issues, a crack in the foundation, the whole thing needs rewiring to be brought up to code.

“I’m not sure if I can even afford to fix it,” Serena says. She gets an odd expression and then shakes it away. “I’ll have to think about it a bit more, I’m afraid.”

“Can I see it?” Charlotte asks. 

“You want to?” Serena says. “I still have to meet the roofer in a couple hours. You could come with me if it doesn’t interfere too much in your day.”

“I’d like to,” Charlotte says. “Is that okay, mum?”

Bernie nods. “We could go down to the water,” she suggests. “Take a walk, after.”

“Your mother loves a walk,” Serena says, with a tired sigh. “Like a labrador. A walk twice a day to keep her happy.”

“Oi,” she says, but there’s no real malice from either of them. 

“May as well get the dog if you’re already on the walks,” Charlotte says.

“Watch it, Lottie, Jason will take you up on that,” Bernie says, slipping into the old nickname. Usually only Cam still calls her that. She makes a funny face, but doesn’t correct her mother. 

Bernie folds herself into the backseat for the short drive to the house because Serena and Charlotte seem to be getting on quite well and Bernie’s seen the house before. She listens to Charlotte ask delicate questions, probing but gentle. Bernie can tell that she’s avoiding anything that might put them on a path to talking about Elinor. 

Charlotte really is the one who knows how to do feelings. Where did she pick that up, Bernie wonders. 

“Oh,” Charlotte says when they see the house.

“Yes,” Serena says dryly, turning off the car. “Oh.”

“It’s, uh, got good bones, I think,” Charlotte offers. 

“She’s very sweet, your Lottie,” Serena says. Charlotte makes that same, strange expression again.

They get out, Serena digs in her bag for her keys. Charlotte slows, stopping at the first step up onto the porch, making a worried face. 

“What?” Bernie asks.

“What’s wrong with this place?” Charlotte asks. 

“How do you mean?” Serena asks, pulling the keys out successfully. 

“Something’s wrong here,” Charlotte says. “This feels wrong.” 

“Are you having us on?” Bernie asks. 

“She’s white as a sheet, Bernie,” Serena says. “Charlotte?”

“I don’t think I want to go in,” Charlotte says, turning away and walking back toward the car.

Bernie shakes her head at Serena, follows her. Serena unlocks the car from the porch before letting herself into the old house. They stay in the car until the roofer arrives, all through Serena talking to him, circling the property and the man leaning a long ladder against the house and climbing up. Climbing back down, scratching his head, scribbling something out on a piece of paper and handing it to Serena.

Serena rolling her eyes.

Bernie sits in the driver’s seat, Charlotte in the back on her phone when Serena gets into the car once more. 

“All set?” Bernie asks with forced cheer. 

“Yes,” Serena says. “I want a bath and some dinner. Let’s go.” 

It’s not until they’re on the high road that Charlotte finally says, “Serena, I think that house is haunted.”

Bernie honks out surprised laughter. The noise causes Serena to glance over at her with a suppressed smile - it _always_ does. But Charlotte just crosses her arms. “Oh, you’re serious.”

“I got a bad vibe from that place! It made all the hair on my arms stand straight up!” 

“Come on,” Bernie says. 

Serena is suspiciously quiet. 

“Serena?”

“It’s just… obviously I don’t believe in ghosts,” she says. “But it has been… there have been some strange things.”

“Like what?” Bernie says. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Like the neighbors,” Serena says. “They’re just… strange. And I’ve heard noises but I thought I was just being ridiculous, alone in the house, my mind playing tricks.” 

Bernie looks between them, bewildered. 

“The law firm did say the last tenant died in the house,” Serena says. “I didn’t think anything of it. I’ve seen a lot of people die.” 

“You two are having a laugh at my expense,” Bernie says. 

Charlotte glares at her, Serena just throws her hands into the air and says, “Just park the car, Bernie.”

oooo

Charlotte perks up a little when they get back to the hotel, more when she gets food and beer in her. She has just one. Bernie has a glass of white wine. Serena has water. Bernie and Serena have talked at length about Serena and wine. Serena tends to use it as a crutch when she’s depressed, is generally all right with it when she’s not. But it’s been Serena’s decision to leave it behind for an undetermined amount of time, Serena who had said she didn’t know how she’d ever feel not depressed again. It’s been months since she’s had a glass of wine. 

She had a glass of champagne at the new year, a cocktail at Albie’s for Mo Effanga’s birthday but not Shiraz. 

“It’s not that crazy,” Charlotte is saying, mopping a piece of bread through the sauce on her plate. “Some people are more sensitive than others.”

“You’re saying I don’t believe it ghosts because I’m rational?” Bernie asks.

“Now what makes you think the opposite of sensitive is rational?” Serena pipes up. “Honestly, Bernie.” 

“Sorry,” she murmurs, “But…”

“It’s all rather a moot point anyway,” Serena says. “The house needs a hundred thousand pounds worth of work to be remotely livable.” 

“Well, if we did it slowly,” Bernie says. “The structural things this year, and maybe the cosmetic stuff later on?”

“We?” Serena says softly. “Bernie, I don’t expect…”

“Serena,” Charlotte says. “She’s not going anywhere. Why wouldn’t she help?”

Serena flushes, looks down at her plate and then manages to shoot Bernie a small smile. 

“Why haven’t you moved in together, by the way?” Charlotte asks. “It’s been ages. Not the lesbian way of things, from my understanding.” 

“Well,” Bernie blusters. “It’s not… really…”

“I haven’t asked her,” Serena says. “Because I’m daft, apparently.” 

Bernie stares at her.

“I think about it,” Serena tells Charlotte, “But your mother likes to run off at the first sign of progress so I just haven’t done it yet.”

“Serena, I would never leave you,” Bernie says. It’s something she tries to say every so often these days. A reminder, after Kiev and Elinor and all the bad days that have come after. “Never.”

“Then move in with me,” Serena says. “Please.”

“Yes,” Bernie says. “Obviously, yes.”

Charlotte picks up her phone, taps at the screen and then holds it up to her ear. She holds up a finger when Bernie looks at her and then says, “Hi. You owe me fifty pounds.”

Bernie and Serena can both, quite clearly, hear Charlotte’s brother swear through the line.

oooo

Bernie has to call Charlotte in the morning because it’s nearly time for check out but she’s not answering her door.

“Oh, I packed everything up and left my rucksack with the front desk,” she says. “I’m at the library. Well, standing outside of it now.” 

“Why?” Bernie asks.

“Research,” Charlotte says. “Can you come pick me up?”

The library is little, tucked more inland than their hotel or Serena’s house. They have to park on the street and then when they come in, they spot Charlotte in front of the microfiche machine.

“What on earth are we doing here?” Serena asks. 

“I wanted to see if there was anything about your house in the local papers,” Charlotte says in a hushed tone. She points to the seat next to her and Serena takes it. Bernie just stands behind them.

“And?” Serena asks.

“Turns out three separate people have died in the house and other tenants have had accidents as well,” Charlotte says. “The only time the house doesn’t show up in the news is for several years in the late eighties-”

“That’s when Marjorie and Jason would have been living there,” Serena says. 

“And then in the 30s when the house was built by someone named… Dolores something. The paper was damaged so that article was incomplete.”

“That would have been my grandmother,” Serena says.

“So it seems like as long as your family is in the house, you’ll probably be fine,” Charlotte says. “The house doesn’t like renters.” 

“Hmm,” Serena says as if she’s seriously considering this as a working theory. 

“Come on,” Bernie says again.

Charlotte ignores her and says, “The librarian told me the local vicar offers exorcisms if you want to be on the safe side.”

“Thank you, Nancy Drew,” Serena says. “Come on, we’ve got to get you to the train station.”

Charlotte turns the machine off and shoulders her purse.

oooo

Bernie hugs Charlotte tight and hard at the station and then Serena does as well. 

“Next time you come, you’ll stay in the house with us, I promise,” Serena says. “Maybe in the summer? Jason likes to do cook outs in the garden.”

“That sounds so lovely,” Charlotte promises. “Mum, Cam texted and said he’d help you move, so please take him up on that.”

“I promise,” Bernie laughs.

Charlotte leans in, kisses her cheek and then says. “Sorry.”

Bernie shakes her head. “Love you, lovebug.”

“Love you, too, mum,” she says. “Mums, I guess.”

Serena gives her a watery smile. They watch her cross the platform and step onto her train. 

“So do you want to get that vicar to banish the demons from your new house?” Bernie asks lightly.

“Oh,” Serena says. “No, I’m not dealing with all of that. I’m going to demolish the house and sell off the land. Jason will understand.”

“Oh thank god,” Bernie says. “You really had me going with that haunted stuff.”

“It’s haunted, all right,” Serena says, heading back toward the car park. “I just simply won’t stand for it, that’s all.”

Bernie stares after her and then says, “Oh, come on!”


	20. you told me you loved me so why did you go away?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said: _not sure if you're still taking prompts but, oblivious staff members finding out about bernie and serena's relationship._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a silly little nugget on a rainy sunday night.

**v. Henrick**

Hanssen doesn’t usually keep abreast of workplace gossip of the romantic nature but he has an understanding with HR in regards to official paperwork if submitted by a registrar or higher. They’re the leaders of this army of his and he needs to know if something is going to muck up the gears.

So when a form filled out by Consultant Serena Campbell comes across his desk, he is quite surprised indeed. It is surprising, yes, that the other signature belongs to Consultant Berenice Wolfe (a rare and lucky catch for Holby City Hospital, that one), but more surprising that the form has appeared at all, given Ms. Campbell’s somewhat notorious stance on workplace romances. 

This he simply must see for himself. 

He hasn’t spent much time on AAU lately because it has been running so well. He’d thought it had something to do with the complementary partnership of Ms. Campbell and Ms. Wolfe and it seems they get on even better than he’d hoped. 

Though, he hopes not too well. Not to the detriment of the ward, at least.

Serena runs like clockwork, so Hanssen stations himself in the stairwell, peers down into the car park until he sees Serena pull into her space. She gets out of the car - as does Ms. Wolfe. But they do not linger in the car park, do not hold hands as they enter the hospital. It is not immediately apparent that they are more than friends. 

Later, he makes his way to the ward, checks in with a few patients, speaks to the nurses in a pleasant enough manner. They all squeak out greetings and scurry away.

Both Serena and Ms. Wolfe are in the office, at their respective desks. Serena is looking into her computer monitor, Ms. Wolfe into her mobile. She holds it up, says something, Serena laughs. 

At the nurses’ station, the red phone rings. Nurse Fletcher answers it, takes down the information and hangs up, goes directly to the consultant's’ office and relays the incoming trauma. This is when Serena spots him and says, “Ah, Mr. Hanssen, what timing. We’re short Raf today, can you lend a hand?”

He nods. “I can.”

He ends up spending several hours on AAU, performs two procedures in theatre. One with Serena, one with Ms. Wolfe. Serena is a lovely surgeon, dependable, competent, reliable. Ms. Wolfe, well, she’s an artist. He makes a mental note to look in on more of her surgeries. She’s fearless, she’s creative, her work is beautiful. 

Only once does Hanssen see them together where it is apparent that they have a level of intimacy beyond friendship. They pass in theatre - Serena coming out, Ms. Wolfe going in. He is staying put for the transition. There’s a small moment where Ms. Wolfe leans into say something into Serena’s ear and Serena steadies herself with her hand on Ms. Wolfe’s hip. 

That’s all. 

Hanssen doesn’t worry about AAU or the form from HR again.

 

**iv. Lou**

Lou has been working at the hospital for nearly twelve years. She’s been all over the building but has been with Ms. Campbell since she’d taken over AAU from Mr. Spence. Lou likes AAU with Ms. Campbell because she runs a tight ward - as predictable as she can make it but never boring. She doesn’t shirk responsibilities either. She’s as much of an administrator as she is a doctor, so she doesn’t fob off paperwork, doesn’t ignore inventory requests or deny time off because she doesn’t want to deal with the change in roster. 

Lou also likes it because Ms. Campbell doesn’t sleep with the nurses or bring her romantic drama onto the ward. Not often, anyway. 

Lou really doesn’t miss Mr. Spence. 

So it’s a bit of a shock, really, when Lou is walking through the car park, heading toward the hospital for her Saturday shift and she sees Ms. Campbell’s car. Ms. Campbell doesn’t work Saturdays except if there’s an emergency or if she’s covering a shift to give someone a holiday. Saturdays they get Ms. Wolfe. Lou looks into the windows of the parked car as she passes only to see both Ms. Campbell and Ms. Wolfe in there and they’re snogging something fierce. 

At 8:45 on a Saturday morning!

Lou can barely get the mascara onto her lashes at this time of morning let alone manage to snog someone with the fierce efficiency those two are managing.

She doesn’t slow, she keeps on walking. Smiles a little to herself.

Good for Ms. Campbell. 

Lou won’t say anything about it to her, of course. She’s not much for spreading gossip. Not much for chatting at all, really.

 

**iii. Sacha**

He’s headed to the toilet to have a good cry. Sacha feels pathetic. He’s not sure why he even goes out to Albie’s anymore. He knows everyone in this town. He’s either dated them, married them, or been rejected by them or some combination of the three.

So he’s going to toilet to feel sorry for himself, pull himself back together, and then he’s going home. 

He pushes open the door to the men’s room to see two people kissing. 

Very enthusiastically. 

Two women, actually. 

“Um,” he says. 

They spring apart. 

It’s Bernie and _Serena Campbell_. Bitter, divorced, perpetually single Serena Campbell is snogging someone in the men’s room.

“This is the men’s room,” he says. 

“Ah, is it?” Serena says. “Sorry.” She tries not to smile but is failing quite spectacularly. 

Bernie pulls her out into the hallway, muttering apologies, also looking smug as hell.

He looks at himself in the mirror. Tilts his head in consideration. Has Serena solved the problem by switching teams?

Is that something he should…?

He shakes his head. 

Locks himself in the stall to have his cry. 

 

**ii. Raf**

Fletch says, “Do you reckon there’s something going on between Serena and Ms. Wolfe?”

Raf thinks about it for a moment and then says, “Nah.” 

Many weeks later, when the whole sordid affair comes out and Serena is left bereft on the ward, Raf has to go eat crow and tell Fletch that he’d been right from the start.

“Told ya,” Fletch says, smug even in a hospital bed. 

 

**i. Jac**

Jac doesn’t consider Serena a friend, doesn’t particularly even like the woman. Doesn’t dislike the woman, doesn’t think about her at all. She does respect her, and that’s worth more than friendship to Jac Naylor any day of the week. 

She’s vaguely aware that there’s some turmoil on AAU, doesn’t want to get into it. Still, she when she finds Serena sitting forlornly on a bench in the peace garden, it’s too late to turn around and pretend she hasn’t. 

“It’s fine,” Serena says. “Have a seat.” 

Jac does. Just starts to believe that Serena is going to allow her to sit in silence when-

“Bloody freezing out here,” she says. 

“So go inside,” Jac counters, looking down into the screen of her phone. 

Serena says nothing, they fall back into silence once more. Until-

“You’re very pretty,” Serena says conversationally. 

“So?” Jac says. She’d forgotten how Serena always lightly hits on her whenever they talk. Or flirt, or whatever it is that she does. Disarming, yes, but inescapable somehow. 

“Yet your love life hardly ever seems to go pear shaped. How do you manage a ward and a personal life?” Serena asks. 

“I keep them separate,” Jac says. “And I don’t talk about them with colleagues.”

Serena chuckles, though no joke has been made. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard about Bernie,” she says. 

Jac has to ponder that for a moment. “Seconded somewhere, I think?”

“Ukraine,” Serena says softly. 

“Good for her,” Jac says. “It’s always good when someone manages to get the hell out of this city for a bit.”

When Serena doesn’t respond, Jac looks up to see that Serena has started to cry. Big wet eyes and a quivering chin. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Campbell,” Jac says. “What?”

“She kissed me, you know,” Serena says, her voice quite wobbly. “And it was amazing. And I kissed her and it was even more amazing and then she _left_.”

Jac blinks at her. “You kissed Berenice Wolfe?” she asks, slightly surprised. Not that Serena was going about kissing women, no one who who has ever seen Serena flirt with anyone with a pulse could be all that surprised that she swung both ways. But Wolfe was quite striking, smart and a little scary. If Jac decided ever to sleep with a woman, she thinks it’d be a woman like Berenice Wolfe. “Good on you.” 

Serena looks startled enough that she stops crying. 

“That’s all you have to say?” Serena asks. 

Jac rolls her eyes. “She’s on secondment, not in exile. When she comes back, just… show her what she was missing or something.” 

“Wow,” Serena says. 

“I know,” Jac says, standing, tucking her phone back into the pocket of her grey sweatshirt. “I’m a genius. You’re welcome.” 

Leaves her sniveling on her bench.


	21. i won't let nobody hurt you, won't let no one break your heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fanchonmoreau said: _I don't imagine you are still taking prompts but on the off chance that you are... one of the Berena kids has a gay awakening_

Charlotte has not been returning her calls. 

This is not that strange, Serena points out to Bernie as gently as she can. Charlotte and Bernie are not so very close, but in the last year things have vastly improved. They speak on the phone a couple times a month. They text. Bernie has been included in a group text with both of her children, and they so often make her laugh with their witty observations of the world. More regularly she gets texts about how to file taxes and what kind of tyres should Cam buy for the car since he ran over a nail and could she help Charlotte buy her books this semester, maybe? Mum stuff.

Bernie likes the mum stuff. She didn’t used to until it was taken away from her and now that she has it back again, she endeavors not to muck it up.

Charlotte’s birthday comes at the very beginning of summer, mid-June. Bernie had set herself a reminder to call during the day and had instead spent the majority of her shift in theatre dealing with a trauma involving a team of builders and the demolition of a building via dynamite. The explosion had been triggered early, before everyone was out of the building. 

They’d only been able to save three. 

She doesn’t manage to call Charlotte until the day after her birthday and when Charlotte doesn’t answer, she has to dig deep to sound even remotely cheery in the message that she leaves. 

Charlotte doesn’t call her back.

Bernie leaves another message two days later, apologizing again.

At the beginning of the next week, she texts, requesting that Charlotte call her as soon as she can.

Charlotte does not. 

“I don’t know,” Cam says reluctantly when Bernie calls and demands to know what’s going on with Charlotte. “She’s been kind of weird lately.”

“Weird?” Bernie says. “In what way?”

“In the way that sisters are weird,” Cam says. “Why do you think she tells me anything? She probably tells me less than she tells you.”

“That doesn’t seem possible,” Bernie says. 

“She’s been hanging out with this new crowd,” Cam says. “You know how art school kids are.”

She consults Serena for more information on what art school kids are like because Bernie went to medical school and then enlisted with the military, so she’s got no earthly idea what art school is like, other than it’s expensive and it’s where her daughter insisted on going.

“Don’t you think we ought to make her get a skill that will result in employment?” Marcus had said at the time. Bernie had argued to let her get the kind of education that she’d wanted. That at least she’d wanted one at all. 

Serena doesn’t know, exactly, but is pragmatic about the whole thing. “Artists,” she says. “You know, they’re eccentric. Creative.”

“Incapable of using a telephone?” Bernie asks.

“That’s being in your twenties,” Serena says. “They don’t use phones as phones. Just for communicating exclusively via emoji.” 

Bernie snorts. Then sobers once more. “What do I do?”

“Well,” Serena says. “You can let her ignore you forever.”

Bernie frowns. 

“Or,” Serena says. “We can drive to Brighton and go find her.”

Bernie considers this for awhile and then says, “Could we take the train?”

Serena smiles softly. “I reckon so.”

It’s not until they’re on the train, ten days of silence later, that Bernie considers there might be a halfway point between being ignored forever and rushing east to Brighton. Writing an email, perhaps. Seeing if Marcus can get a hold of Charlotte. Speaking to Cameron once more. She relays these fears haltingly to Serena. 

Serena is dramatic, Bernie has found. Serena always prefers the most dramatic route. The movie script ending, where she and Charlotte rush toward each other on the rocky sea shore, that’s what Serena is imagining. It’s not what will happen. 

“There’s lots to do in Brighton besides Charlotte,” Serena says. “The i360, the Royal Pavilion, the pier. Maybe we were coming anyway. Maybe we just happened to decide to check on her since we were in town.”

Serena can be a little bit frightening when she gets her teeth into something. It’s that face first, wholehearted enthusiasm that had sent Bernie scurrying for Kiev, after all. Bernie breathes through it now, looks at the passing countryside and counts to ten. 

“I’d prefer not to lie,” Bernie says. “Anyway, Cam says she’s still active online so she’s not missing or anything. I just worry that…”

“Worry is why we’re here,” Serena interjects. “She can’t just cut ties with you entirely. She needs to know there’s consequences that go along with her actions. She can’t ignore you.”

But Bernie thinks about this for a long while as the train chugs along. She’s fairly certain she disagrees with Serena. She thinks Charlotte is perfectly within her rights to deny Bernie a relationship. She’s not been a great mother and Charlotte is her own person. She’s not obligated to give her mother anything at all.

“I think she can,” Bernie says finally. 

Serena looks up from the book she’s reading and says, “What?” 

It’s been some time and Bernie’s in the middle of a conversation that Serena’s forgotten all about. 

“I think she can ignore me, if she chooses to,” Bernie clarifies. “I’d respect her wishes if that’s what she wants.”

Serena’s mouth is a hard line. She slips her finger into her book and lets it close. 

“You grew her inside of you-” Serena starts.

“That doesn’t shackle her to me for all time,” Bernie says. “She’s still a human. An adult. She gets to make her own choices, just like you and me.”

“So what then?” Serena says. “You want to go and not see her at all? You want me to turn this train around?”

“I guess I’ll just tell her where I am and see if she comes to see me,” Bernie says. 

oooo

Serena got them a room at the Blanch House, though Bernie isn’t sure how she manages on such short notice. That’s just the sort of thing Serena is capable of. They stay in the Peonie room which is on the smaller side but perfect for the two of them. They’re staying two nights - if Bernie decides she needs more she’ll have to find another room somewhere else. Serena will have to leave without her. 

Serena seems to think whatever needs to be patched can be done over this long weekend they’ve arranged. Bernie knows better, knows that healing is not a straight line in any direction. That it’s more like a battle in a war zone, rushing forward and falling back, feinting one way, going down hard when things go awry. 

Serena frets at the black tile in the bathroom, fusses that it makes the space seem small. Bernie is indifferent to it at best. She can’t care about bathroom decor or whether the room’s view faces the sea (it does) or the noise from the street below when the windows are open. She looks at her reflection in the window’s glass and tries to see her daughter’s face within her own. But Charlotte, though she has her coloring, looks more, to Bernie, like Marcus. She doesn’t have Bernie’s narrow droopy eyes or the strong Wolfe nose. 

Charlotte’s eyes are more like Serena’s, actually, wide and open. Physically and emotionally. Charlotte never did have much of a poker face, you could always see everything going on right on her face. She thinks of one the poems that Charlotte had sent her when she was still in Iraq. She thinks Charlotte and Serena both have in spades the things in that poem Bernie feels she lacks - a heart like a canvas, a heart like a four poster bed, a heart the size of Arizona.

Much of a heart at all, really. 

“Dearest?” Serena now, peering at her with some concern. 

“Hmm?”

“Wool gathering?” Serena asks. “I asked if you wanted to get something to eat.” 

“I was thinking about… how Charlotte used to send me poetry when I was in Iraq,” Bernie admits. 

“Did she?” Serena asks. “That she wrote?”

“Sometimes, but mostly just things she’d found,” Bernie says. “Marcus and Cam sent letters that were very much about their dreary day to day which I loved because I could picture it so clearly but Charlotte would send me paintings or poems or flash drives with songs on them.”

Serena smiles softly. “She sent you her heart.” 

Bernie’s eyes well up and she swipes at them, embarrassed and miserable. Serena, always patient and mostly kind, takes Bernie’s hand in hers. Laces their fingers, stands with her and stares out the window at the sea until Bernie is ready to go back out into the world. 

oooo

After their tea time, Bernie calls Charlotte and listens to the line ring through to her voicemail. 

She says into her phone that she is in Brighton, that they are staying in the Peonie room at the Blanch House, where they are going to be for dinner, and when they will return to their room. Bernie says that she can meet them any time. To please come, or to call or to text.

Serena seems like she wants to say something about the way Bernie has left this message but she holds her tongue, whatever it is. It’s one of the things she has been working on in her therapy, Bernie knows. And anyway, Bernie is impressed with Serena, even if they aren’t exactly on the level with how to handle Charlotte now. Serena’s daughter is dead and Bernie knows that six months ago, Serena wouldn’t have survived a trip like this. Would have seen Elinor in every young woman with long brown hair, would have thought of Charlotte bitterly, alive and throwing chances away while Elinor was dead and out of reach. 

Now they simply navigate that hard line (before Elinor, and after) to the best of their abilities. 

Serena insists they lie down for awhile and Bernie agrees because if they’re at the hotel, Charlotte can find them. Serena dozes, Bernie tries not to watch the door. Tries not to strain to hear every noise in the hallway. She can’t sleep at all, and gives up after a while. Relocates to the arm chair by the window. Tells herself she’ll watch the light on the water as the sun sinks in the sky but she mostly watches the people on the street.

Charlotte doesn’t come. 

When she turns back to look at Serena in the bed, Serena’s eyes are open and she looks a little bit sad, like she always does now. 

“Bernie,” she says.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t know how to make any of this better for you,” she says helplessly.

“You don’t have to,” Bernie says. “That’s not really your responsibility.” 

Serena is a pretty picture in that bed, with her bare feet and her blouse sliding off one shoulder. Bernie hefts herself out of the chair and back onto the bed. She crawls over Serena, leans down to kiss her. 

Serena is surprised but kisses her back, her hand light on Bernie’s waist. 

“Thanks for coming with me,” Bernie says. “That’s how you’ve made it better.”

They kiss for awhile. Bernie thinks that it might magically make Charlotte appear, if they’re doing something intimate. It’s a leisurely sort of session, not meant to go anywhere. Just passing time. 

Serena’s stomach growls and they break apart. 

“Dinner time?” Bernie asks. Serena nods, reaches up to run her thumb over the corner of Bernie’s mouth.

“What a catch you are,” she says softly. “How lucky I am.” 

Bernie feels a wave of anxiety and guilt. She’s tricked Serena into thinking she’s worth something, somehow. Will never tell her the truth, of course, will ride this out until the very bitter end. As long as Serena will have her.

oooo

Charlotte doesn’t show up to dinner, doesn’t text or call. While they wait for the check, Bernie excuses herself and steps out of the restaurant, around the corner down a narrow little alley. Puts her hands in her face to have a cry. 

It’s not satisfying, she gets no release from the tears, no relief. Her face feels hot, the tears thick, each one a struggle. Serena finds her after some time, both of their purses in her hand. There’s a split second where she looks quite annoyed but the moment she sees Bernie, her red and snotty face, the annoyed look goes away.

And anyway, Serena is in no position to judge Bernie for her tears. Serena has cried more in the last two years than Bernie has in her whole entire life, possibly. Bernie gets a free pass, at least for today.

“It’s only half eight,” Serena settles on after a long silence. “She could still show up. Let’s go back to the room.”

She shoulders Bernie’s purse and sticks a hand into her own, pulling out a little package of tissues. Bernie takes it, fishes one out, mops up her face. The tissue absorbs her tears, takes off a little mascara, all the concealer she’d swiped on beneath her tired eyes. 

It’s about six blocks back to the hotel and it’s cold now with the sun gone down. Serena threads her arm through Bernie’s, stays close. 

“You love her,” Serena says about two blocks away from the hotel. “No matter what else happens, she knows that.”

A little bit, it helps.

oooo

Serena runs Bernie a bath, gets wine from room service and the combination makes Bernie fall asleep even though she’s certain that she won’t. She sleeps hard, she always does after a cry.

So it’s Serena who wakes up when the phone rings, Serena who answers it and says, “Yes, of course, send her up,” and Serena who gets up, pulls on Bernie’s jumper for a grab at decency, and Serena who opens the door. 

Bernie is awake by the time the knock comes, but confused and foggy. 

“What’s going on,” she keeps asking. “Serena, what’s going on?”

It is, of course, Charlotte. 

Bernie sits up, hair wild from falling asleep with it wet, wearing only her knickers and a white tank top. She watches the display confused, everything seeming very slow. Like this is a dream, like she’s underwater. 

It’s Charlotte, but it isn’t. This girl has bubblegum pink hair, this girl wears so much black around her eyes that it seems more like warpaint than make up. This girl is already babbling and crying about something which is so unlike her little stoic daughter, nose always in a book, silent through the worst of it but good, always, under pressure. 

“Slow down, honey,” Serena is saying. She looks over at Bernie who is still sitting dumbly in bed, her mouth open and says, “Wake _up_.” 

She looks groggily at the clock. Nearly two am. Well no wonder. 

Bernie climbs out of bed, rubs her face.

“God,” Charlotte is saying. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.” 

“No, we’re glad you did,” Serena says. 

Bernie walks over, looks Charlotte up and down to make sure she’s real and whole. And then, when it turns out she is, she nudges Serena aside and then wraps her daughter in her arms. 

Charlotte goes rigid for a moment but then relaxes into the embrace. Lifts her arms to hug her mother back and takes a little sniff. Starts to cry again. Bernie holds her tighter, looks over her at Serena who just shakes her head and shrugs. 

oooo

Serena runs another bath, this time for Charlotte. It turns out Charlotte is exhausted and a little drunk. 

It’s true that Serena thinks a hot bath will right any manner of wrong, but in this case Bernie is inclined to agree. 

“I don’t know how I feel about that hair,” Serena says when they are alone again. 

“What was she saying when she came in?” Bernie asks, stepping closer to the closed bathroom door. 

“Just apologized a bunch of times and called herself an idiot,” Serena says. 

Bernie frowns, presses her ear to the door. She hears nothing, not even water running or sloshing around. She knocks gently.

“Can I come in?” she calls through the door. 

There’s a bit of a pause; she’s about to knock again when Charlotte says, “I only want to talk to Serena.” 

It would have been kinder of Charlotte just to slap her across the face. 

Serena’s still naked from the thighs down, so she pulls on a pair of black leggings fished out of her suitcase and looks to Bernie for permission. 

Bernie steps aside, as she always has done, and watches someone else go in to do the hard part of parenting her children. 

She wants to keep listening, but knows better. Instead digs around in her purse from the half crumpled pack of cigarettes she keeps there, just for an emergency such as this. She’s not meant to be smoking in the room but she cracks the window. 

The first drag is soothing and she blows the smoke out into the night.

oooo

By the time Charlotte and Serena emerge from the bathroom, Bernie has already closed up the window and spritzed herself with Serena’s perfume to try to cover the smell of the cigarettes. She can tell from Serena’s face that she both knows Bernie has smoked and used her perfume but that’s a talk for another time. 

Charlotte is in a white robe provided by the hotel. Her hair is wet and she has washed her face though her eyes are still dark where the eyeliner has not quite gone away. She looks small and pale. 

“All right then?” Bernie asks. 

Serena rolls her eyes. 

“Go on, honey,” Serena says when Charlotte doesn’t say anything. 

“Sorry I didn’t call,” Charlotte says, finally. 

“It’s okay,” Bernie says. 

They sit on the edge of the bed. Charlotte looks at Serena who waves her on, goes over to sit in the armchair by the window. She sniffs; she can smell the smoke there, too. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bernie asks. 

“I… didn’t know how,” Charlotte says. “I don’t know how to tell you.”

“You can tell me anything at all,” Bernie promises. 

“It’s just… I thought maybe Serena… because she waited so long,” Charlotte says cryptically, pushing the pink hair out of her eyes. “But I think you always probably knew, didn’t you?”

“What?” Bernie says. 

“Even when you married dad,” Charlotte says. 

“Knew what?” Bernie asks.

“That you were gay, Berenice,” Serena says. She always is impatient when tired. 

Maybe she has always known, yes, that’s true. Even on her wedding day, during the courtship, through both her pregnancies. She’s always known. 

“Oh,” Bernie says, looking at her daughter now. “You… feel?”

“I feel… there’s this...I guess, we were friends first but…”

“Good lord, please help me to survive two Wolfe women trying to communicate about anything,” Serena says from her chair. She’s rubbing at her forehead, clearly exasperated. 

Bernie colors. They aren’t great at this. 

“You met a girl,” Bernie says helpfully. 

Charlotte nods. “I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want you to think I was doing it because of you.” 

“Why would I think that?” Bernie asks. 

Charlotte shrugs. “It just doesn’t feel like a phase.” 

Bernie takes her hand. “It never did for me, either.” 

oooo

It’s a king bed, so it’s not even much of a squeeze. Serena on her one side, Charlotte on her other. Maybe it’s a little strange, but Bernie is too happy to care. Serena slips her cold toes between Bernie’s legs and Charlotte curls up facing her mother, wiggles until her head is touching Bernie’s shoulder. 

“Mummy,” Charlotte says.

“Lottie,” Bernie says back, stroking her hair. Serena is already snoring softly on Bernie’s other side. 

“I like Serena,” she says. 

“I do too,” Bernie agrees.

“Do you think everything is going to be okay?” Charlotte asks very softly. 

This is a question Bernie grapples with near constantly. Whether things will hold, whether she’ll get to be with Serena for as long as she wants to, which seems to be forever. There’s no way to know for sure if things be okay, for Bernie or for Charlotte or for anyone. 

But she doesn’t say this. Instead, she lies.

“I’m sure it will,” Bernie says, kissing Charlotte’s head. “I know it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _heart leaking something so strong_   
>  _they can smell it in the street_
> 
> [FRIDA KAHLO TO MARTY MCCONNELL](http://www.martyoutloud.com/frida-kahlo-to-marty-mcconnell/)


	22. and i'll be loving you for quite some time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said: _Prompt: Bernie finally enters therapy where she tries to sort out her feelings for Serena which keep swinging intolerably and make her want to run away again_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been having a weird month and haven't been writing much and i alternate between telling myself that it's fine and berating myself. i decided it just is what it is. we should all probably drag our asses ~~back~~ to therapy.

She doesn’t find Vanessa right away. The first referral she gets comes from her GP and it’s to someone called Gilbert and she reschedules her appointment twice before finally showing up for the third. She spends only a few minutes with him, the majority of which he spends scratching notes and glancing at her over the rim of his spectacles and she says, “You know what? Thank you for you time.” 

Walks out.

She spends a couple weeks researching therapists after that. Shops around a little. She wishes she had someone to talk to about it, but the only person she talks to about anything is Serena and Serena is why she’s going. So she doesn’t tell Serena at all. Makes up excuses - she has a migraine, she has a dental appointment. Has to take her car in. Ridiculous things that allow her to pop out midday for an hour or two. 

Serena gives her that look that lets Bernie know that she thinks whatever Bernie is trying to pull is bullshit, but doesn’t actually call her out on it. 

On paper, rather, on computer screen, Vanessa seems like an okay fit, but when Bernie shows up to her first appointment, she’s once again unsure. Vanessa is much younger than Bernie had thought - she hadn’t really thought at all. All the others had been around her age or older, but Vanessa is clearly younger. 

“I know,” she says, when she opens the door to greet Bernie and sees her face. “I’m older than I look, I promise. Go on, guess.”

“Dr. Mason…”

“Vanessa please. It’s okay, take a guess,” she says, waving Bernie into the office.

“Uh, thirty-one?” she says.

“Thirty-five,” Vanessa says. “Have a seat. You can lie on the couch if you prefer, some people do, but the armchair is fine.”

Bernie takes the armchair, sets her bag by her foot, puts her hands in her lap, looks around the small office. Cozy. There’s only a small window, so she has lots of little lamps emitting warm light, her degrees hanging on the wall, a print of an Edward Hopper painting. Vanessa follows her gaze and says, “Summer evening.” 

“Sorry?” Bernie asks. 

“The painting,” Vanessa says. 

Bernie just nods, looks back to her lap at then at Vanessa. She’s pretty, slim, has a head full of wavy blonde hair and dark brown eyes. She has the smallest hint of an accent but Bernie can’t place it. 

“So,” she says. “What kind of name is Berenice?”

Bernie chuckles, says, “A family name. I go by Bernie.” 

“I looked it up,” Vanessa says. “It means to bring victory.”

Bernie nods. “It does.” She cocks her head. “Are you a student of names?”

“I like knowing about things,” Vanessa says. 

“And what does your name mean?” Bernie asks.

“My name? It’s just made up, actually. Jonathan Swift made it up to impress a girl.” She grins. “So, now that we’re well acquainted, why don’t you tell me what brings you in today?”

It’s tempting to follow the flow of conversation and tell her that it’s a girl but she doesn’t.

“I’m… having some trouble sleeping,” Bernie says. Not exactly, one hundred percent a lie, she tells herself. She almost never sleeps through the night.

“Is your work stressful? Your job?” Vanessa asks. 

“No more stressful than my last job,” Bernie says. 

Vanessa presses her lips together, leans forward and stares her down. “I get two kinds of people,” she says. “There are people who come in and just spill everything, every thought and fear and desire they’ve ever had because they want help making a story out of the tangle. They want their life to have meaning, to follow a narrative.”

“And the other?” Bernie asks.

“Onions,” Vanessa says.

“Sorry?”

“Onions have layers,” she says. “Gotta peel them back one by one to find the juicy bits.” 

Bernie doesn’t bother to ask which one she is. 

“Which do you prefer?” Bernie asks.

“Oh,” Vanessa says, waving her hand. “Both have their merits. I just like talking to people. So, do you want to tell me a little bit about yourself or do you prefer to just answer my direct questions?”

“Uh,” Bernie says. 

Vanessa smiles. “What do you do for a living, Bernie?”

“I’m a trauma surgeon,” she says. “For the NHS, now.”

“Now?” Vanessa says. “Where did you work before?”

“Military,” Bernie says. “Royal Army Medical Corps.” 

“Wow,” Vanessa says. “What made you make the switch to civilian life?”

Bernie shifts slightly and says, “I was in a tank that blew up.”

For the first time all session, Vanessa reaches for her notebook and pen. 

oooo

Bernie decides on twice a month. Vanessa offers weekly sessions but it’s too hard to schedule that around her work, so they decide on Tuesday mornings because Bernie doesn’t have to be into the hospital until 11. 

“Some clients feel uncomfortable going to work after a session,” Vanessa says carefully but Bernie just glares at her and she says, “Just something to consider!”

The first Tuesday morning, Bernie has to rush to make it on time and when she arrives, her hair is still damp and she’s a little grumpy. Vanessa’s office smells like coffee and the first thing Vanessa does is offer Bernie a cup. She struggles to say yes - doesn’t like making work for people - but she manages to accept and it tastes like heaven. It’s a little bit less daunting with the mug between her hands. Like she’s having a chat with a friend. 

Bernie tells her as much, says, “Very sneaky.”

“Thanks,” Vanessa says brightly and uses it to transition into asking Bernie about her friends. 

Bernie’s instinct is to clam up but this is why she’s here, after all, so she talks a little bit about the people she works with but after a few sentences, Vanessa interrupts her and says, “I said friends, not coworkers.” 

Bernie chuckles. “I can see you don’t know a lot about hospital work,” she says.

Vanessa smiles, says, “Fair.” She asks a few questions about Bernie’s work load, an average day, what she does to decompress. Then asks which of Bernie’s work friends is she closest to.

“Uh, Serena, I guess,” Bernie says.

Vanessa frowns, looks down at her notes. “You didn’t mention her before,” Vanessa says. 

Bernie makes a somewhat surprised little noise but even she thinks it rings false. 

“That’s okay,” Vanessa says. “We can come back to her.”

Bernie doesn’t agree or disagree, knows that avoiding it now will prove more costly down the line but is willing to pay.

Later, at work, she avoids Serena a little bit at first because she still feels out of sorts about this new thing she’s doing. The talking thing, the thing where she thinks about not only what she does, but why.

But eventually Serena comes into the office where Bernie is working and closes the door behind her.

“Hello,” Serena says carefully.

“Hello,” Bernie greets. “Busy day.”

“Hmmm,” Serena says. Bernie looks back at her computer monitor, tries ignore the hot feeling on the back of her neck. The muscles in her thighs clench up. “I know you’re off late, but I was thinking you could come over after shift.”

She wants to say no to hide her secrets, but also, she wants to see Serena. She always does. “Any particular reason?”

Serena sits in her chair and says, “Well,” like it’s the start of some fabulous story. “You know how they just put a new season of Bake Off on Netflix?”

“Um,” Bernie says. 

“They did,” Serena says. “Anyway, I won the conundrum on Countdown so I got to pick what we watched next.”

“I bet he hated that,” Bernie says with a chuckle.

“It’s _his_ rule,” Serena says. “It’s his own fault for just assuming he’d win no matter what.”

“True,” she says. 

“So I picked Bake Off and he didn’t hate it! He said he wanted to bake something and long story short, we made a pie together and he asked if you’d come have a slice with us. I told him you were off late and he said as long as dinner was on time, dessert could be later to accommodate you.”

Serena beams at her. 

“Jason wants me to have some of his pie?” Bernie asks.

“He does,” she says and then adds, “Our pie, but yes.” 

“Well you tell Jason I’ll be there with bells on,” Bernie says.

“He’ll take that literally,” Serena warns.

“Okay,” Bernie says, picking up her stack of completed paperwork. “Forget the part about the bells.”

oooo

She tells Vanessa about the pie and in that way tells her about Jason. For as open as Vanessa is, bubbly and funny and pretty to look at, Bernie realizes that she’s a hard nut to crack. She’s got an excellent poker face, she doesn’t give away at all when she’s got her teeth into something. They spend a long time talking around it, picking away at little facts about Jason, about his Asperger's, about his work as a porter, about his mum and it’s a while before Bernie realizes that actually, she’s talking about Serena.

Not directly, but she is all the same. 

Vanessa can see when Bernie realizes what’s happening because she closes her notebook, gives Bernie a beaming smile and says, “I think our time is up for today.” 

Bernie doesn’t want her to have the last word, doesn’t want her to sit there smug in her navy pencil skirt and tailored blouse and think she’s just so smart so she says the first thing she can think of it.

“It was an apple pie,” she says. 

Vanessa presses her lips together, holding back her smile. 

“Good to know, Dr. Wolfe,” she says. “See you next time.”

oooo

She knows she’s going to have to give up something to keep Vanessa off the scent of Serena, so at their next appointment, Bernie brings up her daughter first thing. 

“When is the last time you saw her?” Vanessa asks, taking the bait.

“Christmas,” Bernie says. “Before that… I saw her briefly when I got back to Holby but not after I split up with her father.” 

“Yes,” Vanessa says, glancing at her notes. “You said they wrote letters.”

“They apologized for that,” Bernie says. “They didn’t understand at the time.”

Vanessa has the smallest smile as she says, “What didn’t they understand, Bernie?”

Bernie hasn’t thought this strategy through. Serena is good at strategy and words and manipulating people gently and just enough so that she gets what she wants. 

“Charlotte wants to come visit,” Bernie says, ignoring the question. “Take the train in for the day. Maybe spend the night if things go well? I imagine she’ll want to see Marcus, too, so...”

“A visit!” Vanessa says. “What will you do?”

“Dunno,” Bernie says. “I imagine at some point I’ll have to feed her.”

“Do Charlotte and Jason get along well?” Vanessa asks. 

“I guess,” Bernie says. “Jason is closer to Cameron.” 

“Do you ever go to see your children or do you wait for them to offer to come to you?” Vanessa asks.

Bernie twists her fingers together. “It’s hard to get away when you’re running a ward.”

“Co-running, I thought,” Vanessa says.

“Still,” Bernie says. “But that’s a good point. Something I ought to consider.” 

“Did you spend Christmas with just your children or did you go somewhere else?” Vanessa asks. 

Bernie fidgets, thinks hard about how to answer. Vanessa gives her a reasonable amount of time and then says, “Did you spend it with Serena?”

Bernie slips her fingers under her thighs, presses her nails into the upholstery of the armchair and then, fretfully, nods. 

Vanessa watches her, clearly sympathetic. 

“Therapy is hard,” Vanessa says. “You don’t have to talk about Serena anymore today if you don’t want to, but I only want to suggest this. If you and your children spent their last visit with Serena and it went well, perhaps you might try to replicate that success. If you think she’d would be willing.”

She would, Bernie knows. 

“Jason invited me over for a custard tart,” Bernie blurts because she knows she ought to say something. “He baked it.” 

“Did you have a nice time?” she asks.

Bernie nods, wiggles just one finger free. She can feel the blood rush back into it, can feel the thudding of her heart in her fingertip. 

“I’m not good at this,” Bernie admits. 

Vanessa chuckles. “Most people aren’t.” 

“Can we be finished for today?” she asks. 

“Yes,” Vanessa says. “But I have some homework for you.” 

Bernie nods. 

Vanessa leans in and says, “I want you to tell someone something you’ve never told anyone before.” 

Bernie raises her eyebrows. 

“Doesn’t have to be Serena,” Vanessa says. “Doesn’t even have to be anyone you know. And it certainly doesn’t have to be anything emotionally significant. I just want you to practice being open about something with another person.” 

Bernie nods, pulls her hands free. “Okay.”

She can see the pattern of her denim trousers imprinted into the skin of her hands. Like a secret rising to the surface. 

oooo

She tells Raf that when she was thirteen, she swiped a candy bar from the corner shop and had never been caught. 

They’re in the lift he stares at her for a moment, perplexed. 

“Just thought I’d get that off my chest,” she says, realizing she’s given him no warning nor context. 

“All right,” he says. “Don’t do it again, young lady.” 

She laughs and he does too and then they get to their floor. 

She doesn’t feel better, really, but she doesn’t feel worse, either. 

oooo

It becomes a very complicated game, hiding Vanessa from Serena and hiding Serena from Vanessa. The truth of it all, anyway. That Serena is more than just her friend, that they spend nights in the same bed, that it’s all soft touches and bare skin between them. But the things she likes most about Serena are the things that terrify her. 

Serena’s strong will, her unforgiving nature, her confidence, her drive, her unshakable sense of self. Serena terrifies her, Serena’s ability to feel emotions, to make decisions, to verbalize them. 

What kind of witchcraft is that, anyhow?

These are the things she should be telling Vanessa, she knows, but she _can’t_. 

Bernie is good at surgery, she’s good at leaving, she’s good at hiding things away. Not much else. 

And Serena is good at so much.

She’s at Serena’s for a Sunday roast - Jason had made an iced bundt cake with minimal supervision, Serena informs her proudly. Serena’s whole house smells warm and cozy; Bernie has had two glasses of wine since her arrival and they’ve not yet sat down to eat. They’re all three in the kitchen. Jason is at the little table in there, more for company, but Serena has Bernie on the mash, tells her to put all those muscles to use and gives her bicep a squeeze. 

Bernie is stronger than Serena, sure, but not the strongest person she knows. Probably not stronger than, say, Oliver Valentine who has on his side both youth and a larger, more muscular frame. She’s ruminating on who might best her in a street match when her phone starts to ring in the back of her pocket. 

Serena snatches it out while Bernie wipes her hands on her jeans and turns to look at Serena who is looking down at Bernie’s phone with a furrowed brow.

“Who is V?” she asks. 

Bernie takes the phone, murmurs, “Excuse me,” and swipes the phone. “Hello?”

She shuts the door to the garden behind her. 

Vanessa is calling to reschedule their Tuesday session for the following week. She doesn’t give a reason as to why, but asks Bernie if two weeks in a row would be all right.

Bernie agrees, the call is ended. 

She stands in the garden, unsure about how she’s going to explain to Serena. But after a bit, Serena simply sticks her head out and says, “It’s time to eat. Are you coming in?”

The meal is tense, but not tense enough for Jason to notice. He talks about all sorts of things and it carries them along. Bernie still thinks about Vanessa, how she’d started going to therapy so that she could be better for Serena and all she’s done is just increase the number of things she hides. 

Vanessa would be disappointed in her also. 

“Charlotte would like to come for a visit,” Bernie says, trying to right at least one wrong. Trying to have one good thing to tell Vanessa when next she sees her. “If it’s okay with you two, I thought I might bring her around?”

The distant look on Serena’s face softens a bit. “Of course.” 

Later, Bernie somehow manages to score an invitation to stay the night. 

In bed, with Serena curled into her back, she starts to relax.

“You can tell me things, you know,” Serena says into the darkness of the room. Bernie can feel her breath across her bare shoulder. “Even things you don’t think I’ll like hearing.”

Bernie, a coward, pretends to be asleep.

oooo

She waits outside of Vanessa’s office determined to do better today. It’s been three weeks since their last appointment and though she dreads these appointments, though she knows she’s not been putting the work in, it still seems too long.

It’s a funny sort of realization to have in the waiting room of her therapist - she feels hot and guilty when the door opens. Vanessa gives her a funny look and Bernie knows it’s all over her face.

“How are you?” Vanessa asks as they get settled. Bernie has already declined tea or coffee. 

“I’m… I think I’ve been wasting your time, a bit,” Bernie admits. 

Vanessa doesn’t pretend not to know what she’s talking about. “A bit,” she agrees. 

“I just… I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know why I do it,” she says. “I just panic. I think the only thing I can do is to leave but I don’t want to quit therapy because I think it’s meant to help but I don’t know how to do this work.” She says all of this into her lap, finally looks up.

“Is that what happened with Serena?” Vanessa asks lightly.

“What?”

“Did you leave her when things got too hard?” 

“I don’t leave when things get bad,” Bernie says. “I leave when they get too good.”

“Ah,” Vanessa says. “And now you’ve returned and she’s taken you back.”

“Yes,” Bernie says.

“And you’re worried you’re going to screw it up by leaving again,” Vanessa says.

“Pretty much,” Bernie confirms.

“All right,” Vanessa says. “Let’s work on that, then.” 

“Also, I like women,” Bernie adds. “I don’t know why I tried to hide that from you.” 

Vanessa smiles. “Well,” she says. “Thanks for clearing that up for me.”

oooo

Bernie calls Serena from the car park outside of Vanessa’s office, sitting in her car. 

Serena answers and says, “Please tell me you’re not calling off because we’re swamped.”

“No, I’ll be there,” Bernie says. “I thought if you had a minute… but I can just talk to you when I get in.”

“Wait a minute,” Serena says. “Let me just…” Bernie hears the familiar click of their office door closing and the din behind Serena’s voice quiets a bit. “Okay.”

“I wanted to tell you that the phone call you saw last week, V,” Bernie says. “That’s Vanessa.”

“Vanessa,” Serena repeats, her voice sounding a little thin.

“My therapist.”

“Your thera… your therapist?” Serena exclaims.

“I haven’t been seeing her all that long and I think I just wanted to be sure about things before I told you about her.”

“Is that where you go Tuesday mornings?” Serena says. “Oh god, I’m so relieved.”

“Why?” Bernie asks. “Am I really that bad?”

“No I just thought… I worried you were seeing someone else.” Serena does sound contrite. “In a _way_ I was right…”

“God, I would never! How could you think that?” Bernie demands.

“I thought Edward would never either, until he did!” she says. “And you were being cagey about something!” She sighs. “I’m glad to hear it, though. What made you decide to go?”

“Dunno,” Bernie says. “Just want to be the best I can be. For you and for Jason.” 

She hears Serena sniffle. “Come to work, Bernie.”

“On my way,” she promises. 

When she gets to the hospital, Serena’s waiting for her in the lobby holding a paper cup of tea and kisses her in the lift on the ride up. 

“Jason wants to make a meat pie for dinner,” Serena says, her voice still watery. “Up for it?”

Bernie nods, her fingers warm around her tea. “With bells on.”


	23. it would be a fine proposition if i was a stupid girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous said: _In case you still accept Berena prompts, one for your consideration. An answer in story form, to why, after being called to the hospital in the middle of Arthur's funeral, Serena automatically went to Bernie's car for a ride to work when they'd clearly arrived separately. What happened in the scenes we didn't see? Whose idea was it or was it even discussed? Serena's car was stolen over a month before; has Bernie been giving her rides all this time? Thanks for considering this prompt._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do you mean i wrote a whole story and then found a prompt to make it work with? no. that's crazy talk. I SAID GOOD DAY.

There’s a long discussion when her contract comes up and Marcus says, “For once could you consider what it is that I want?”

Bernie does consider this, though he doesn’t believe it. She considers that her job is dangerous and important and he gets to live in their nice house in Holby City and see their children every day. But still, somehow, he believes he’s the victim here, that he’s the one with the tough side of things. He honestly does. 

Is that what makes her come home? It’s not exactly quitting her job, because she could take her commission back of course. If one day she declared that she wanted to go back onto active duty, no one would say no. But she figures he’s a little bit right. They ought to try it his way, at least.

She packs up her things, Alex stops in only briefly because she’s having a tough time believing that Bernie is actually going. She watches Bernie fold up a jumper and try to shove it into an already full canvas bag. 

“Bern,” she says. Bernie lifts her eyes, a sharp glance. She’s not gone yet. “Major,” Alex corrects. “I just… I thought…”

And then Bernie knows it’s the right choice because things have been getting tense between them and she’s too scared to find out what that tension breaking might look like. 

“I’ll write,” Bernie says. She won’t, they both know it. 

Alex just nods. “Travel safe, sir.”

She leaves without fanfare or production or goodbyes. It’s not easy, she leaves in the night, catches a flight to a different base, a ride to a commercial airport, has to fly to the continent and then back to Britain. It takes nearly two days. She’s in uniform, people thank her for her service on every leg. Mostly the crew of the commercial flights, a few civilians sitting near to her. 

A young woman in the Amsterdam airport approaches her, in her late twenties maybe, and hands her a cup of coffee at one point, mumbles her thanks and then scurries off, blushing. Bernie stares after her perplexed.

“The uniform,” an older man sitting near her says. “It’s impressive.”

So she drinks the coffee and it does help to get her home. 

Marcus is at work when she actually arrives, but Cameron and Charlotte are both in the baggage claim at Heathrow. Charlotte is taller than when she left last by a bit, her final growth spurt. She’s just gone eighteen, Bernie has missed her birthday by a few weeks. She hugs them both, finding herself getting teary.

“Mum,” Cam says uncomfortably. “Come on.” 

She offers to drive, but Cameron ignores it. Charlotte sits in the back looking at her phone. The chit chat they manage is superficial and Bernie finds she can’t even be upset about the stilted conversation, the awkwardness, because she’s so tired. She falls asleep, even, and doesn’t wake up until they’re practically home.

And then she crawls into bed and sleeps for several more hours. 

Cameron has his own place, but Charlotte still lives at home with Marcus. When Bernie wakes up, the sun has gone and she can hear movement downstairs, the domestic sounds of someone preparing a meal in the kitchen with the din of a television and, if she’s not mistaken, the sound of the dryer barrel rotating. She looks at where she dropped her bag by the bedroom door, she finds it’s gone. 

She takes a quick shower, not more than five minutes, and looks in the wardrobe. All her things are there, her clothes and shoes and jewelry, even her little clear, acrylic box of cosmetics sits on the top of the bureau, untouched. She pulls on some pants, a sports bra. Loungewear she’s not worn in months. Feels like a guest in her own home.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Marcus smiles at her, small but genuine. She allows herself to be enveloped in a hug. 

“I came and kissed you but you were out,” he said. 

“Long trip,” she murmured. 

The hug goes on for several more seconds and she stands there, waits it out. Finally he lets go. Steps back and looks her over.

“You look good. Tan.” 

“That’ll fade,” she promises.

“Dinner is almost ready,” he says. “Cam said to say goodbye, he had to go to work. But Lottie is here…” His trailing off is a nudge. 

Charlotte is sitting cross-legged on the sofa, watching the television, but there’s a book open on her lap as well. She looks up when Bernie comes in and there’s just a flitter of surprise across her face. It takes weeks, sometimes, for that to go away. They’re more used to her being gone.

“Hello,” Bernie says.

“Hi,” says Charlotte. 

“Mind if I sit?” Bernie asks, pointing to the reclining chair that Marcus favors. 

Charlotte just shrugs, though she does reach for the remote and nudge the volume down a few bars. 

Bernie still feels tired, a little out of it. Charlotte is watching some show Bernie doesn’t know anything about, though the lead lady is pretty. Bernie watches silently for a few minutes. 

“School’s good?” she asks after a while.

“It’s okay,” Charlotte said. 

“I got your letter. It came two days before I left,” Bernie says. “Lucky.”

Charlotte glances over at her. “Good,” she says. 

Charlotte is much more open in her letters than in person. Bernie feels a pang - she’ll probably know less about Charlotte being home in Holby than when she was abroad. She’ll get no more letters. No more long pages about her day, the this and that of everyday life. No more funny stories about her mates or glimpses into her classes. 

The Dunn-Wolfe family aren’t chatters. Bernie can’t complain, exactly, because she is the worst of them all. But she can mourn the loss all the same. 

Dinner is quiet, too. Bernie manages a little about her trip, the many legs of it, the girl who gave her a coffee. She’s still very tired. After dinner, she helps Marcus wash up.

Charlotte changes her clothes and goes out to meet some friends. 

“I think I might lie down,” Bernie says, though it’s only 8:30. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” he asks. 

“Um,” she says. “Perhaps in a bit.” 

She swings by the laundry on her way and pulls her clean, warm things out. Carries them in a squished bundle back up to the bedroom. Mostly they’re military things that will be packed away, but her old worn hoodie is in there, so she puts that on and zips it up. Crawls back into her side of the bed. 

It’s almost too comfortable. Too quiet, too warm, to clean.

The adjusting is always so hard.

Marcus comes to bed before ten and they make love, because there’s no reason not too. She’s home, the kids are out. House to themselves. 

It’s okay, familiar. It takes her a while to warm up because she’s so tired, but eventually she gets wet enough that it’s not painful. He doesn’t drag it out, which she’s grateful for.

She falls asleep while he’s in the shower and doesn’t wake until the morning.

oooo

After about a month at home, puttering around, her boredom starts making her panicky, so she submits an application for locum at both St. James, where Marcus works, and at the NHS facility. Both call her back but she decides to go with Holby City Hospital because she imagines working for the NHS will feel more like military life than a private hospital and because it’s just a little bit closer to home and because she doesn’t feel like working with Marcus all day and then going home to him at night is what she wants. 

Her first couple weeks they have her down in the ED which isn’t a bad fit, exactly, but she’s filling in for someone on leave and when that doctor returns, she gets kicked up to Keller. 

Keller feels like she’s in an entirely different hospital. It’s quiet and clean, feels posh in comparison. People queuing up for elective surgeries, Sasha Levy’s almost boyish enthusiasm for everything. She’s filling in for someone called Ric Griffin; no one seems particularly put out that he’s gone.

“You’re Berenice Wolfe?” asks one of the junior doctors, a young man with thick glasses. 

“I am,” she confirms. 

“You’ve been doing ED shifts, right? We’ve heard about you,” he says. “Wait until Dom finds out you’re here. What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I’m just filling in,” she says. “Here to lend a hand.” 

They’ve heard about her because she’s been making waves, no matter how hard she tries to fly under the radar. She’s just not used to hospital work, all the paperwork and procedure. When she sees someone who needs surgery, her first instinct is to fix them in the best way she knows how. But it turns out she’s a bit of a maverick. Has a flashy style. 

She knows Mr. Hanssen is watching her closely now, has already warned her that they only thing keeping her out of trouble is the fact that she’s getting consistently good results. That if she is interested in ever being more than a locum, she’d better start playing by the rules. 

Keller is a bit dull, but she doesn’t mind it, exactly. She spends most of the day in the theatre, everyone seems kind and competent. Dr. Copeland warms up to her right away, so she takes him into her theatre with him, tries to teach him as she goes. 

At the end of the first week, on a Friday, Sasha invites her to go out with them after shift. There’s a local watering hole just steps away from the hospital. She knows about it, of course, but hasn’t gone. This is the first time she’s expressly been invited. Still, she turns them down. 

“My husband will be waiting for me,” she explains. “But another time.” 

Marcus is not waiting for her when she gets home. She texts him and it takes a bit before he replies that he’s working late. 

She could go back, find them at the bar but she doesn’t. She fixes herself a bowl of cold cereal for dinner and eats it in front of the television. 

Starts a load of laundry. 

Charlotte comes home before Marcus and Bernie manages to convince her to go out to the corner shop to buy ice cream bars. They walk together, despite the cold. It’s fall now, winter looming on the horizon. Charlotte is always out, studying or in class, has been making noise about maybe getting a part time job. 

“You know, if you need something you can come to me,” Bernie says. “Clothes or supplies or even just pocket money. You seem like you already have a lot on your plate.”

“Dad doesn’t like handouts,” Charlotte says. 

“It’s not a handout,” Bernie says. “School is important and what you should be focusing on.”

Charlotte looks at her suspiciously. 

“I mean sure, in the summer, maybe getting a job would be good, but just let me know what you need,” Bernie says, bumping her hip gently into her daughter’s as they walk. “Your old mum can sort it out for you.” 

Bernie buys them ice creams and they eat them on the way home, detouring a block or two out of the way to walk through the park. Charlotte opens up a little more, Bernie listens and doesn’t push. 

When they get home, Marcus’s car is in the drive. 

“Night, mum,” Charlotte says and rushes up the stairs when they get in. 

Marcus seems tired, his teeth are dark with wine. 

“Did you go out after?” Bernie asks.

“Just for a drink,” Marcus says. “Hard shift.”

“Well,” she says, reaching out to touch his arm. Her fingers just brush the fabric. “Glad you’re home now.”

Still, when Marcus goes to bed, she makes up reasons to putter around downstairs. Only climbs the stairs when she’s half asleep, doesn’t let the sound of his snoring hold her back from unconsciousness. 

oooo

She’s been on Keller nearly a month when AAU requests a consult and she volunteers to go. Keller is fine, though the newness has worn and she’s a little bored doing the same rota of surgical procedures everyday. Sure, something interesting comes along now and then, but it’s not her ward so she, at best, gets to watch.

AAU has a reputation of being a bit of the ugly step-child to Keller and Darwin. Arthur explains to her that it’s a bit unfair, because apparently it had been a bit of a mess but Serena Campbell had cleaned it up and now it was better. 

“My girlfriend works on AAU,” he says. “She’d die on a battlefield for Ms. Campbell, I suspect.”

Arthur likes her because he likes to talk military strategy though his interests are a bit historic and he finds her modern day answers to his queries somewhat crude. 

But all that aside, Bernie says, “Who?”

“You haven’t met Ms. Campbell?” Arthur asks. 

Dom, who happens to be passing, says, “Ms. Wolfe doesn’t go to Albie’s.” He sing-songs it, actually, a little tauntingly. 

“Ah,” he says. “Right. Ms. Campbell is the head of AAU. Likes her shiraz.” 

Keller seems downright serene in comparison to AAU. It’s not that this ward seems out of control, it’s obviously very organized chaos, but chaos nonetheless. Bernie can recognize Arthur’s girlfriend, Morven. Bernie has met her once, seen her a few times both on Keller and in other hospital hot spots. The coffee queue, the roof, the car park. 

A nurse finds her, says, “You from Keller, then?” Swift introductions are made, he shows her where to scrub in.

“Serena is in theatre already,” he says. Bernie glances through the window as she washes her hands but all she can see is the back of someone, hunched over a body. Not much to go on. 

She feels out of place in her paper cap and her maroon scrubs, but everyone looks up at her when she enters.

“Ahh,” someone says. “You must be her.”

And launches right into the medicine. 

It’s not a terribly complicated case, though a bit tricky. Certainly easier with two people. Bernie gives her recommendation, laying out a fairly simple plan.

“Alright then, let’s take a whack at it,” says the other surgeon. And then, “I’m Serena by the way.” She says it with both hands in the man’s gut. No handshake this time.

“Bernie,” she says.

“I’ve heard about you,” Serena says.

“And I you,” Bernie replies. And she has… if only just a little. 

It seems like Serena smiles at her but it’s hard to tell with the masks. Her eyes, for a moment, look very kind.

Bernie leaves when they’re closing up. She’s scheduled for another procedure, can’t wait around for a proper introduction. It’s a bit of a pity, though, because she and Serena worked well together. No struggle for dominance, no showboating. She’d taken Bernie’s opinion at face value and thanked her for the consult. 

When she’s changing at the end of her shift, Dom comes into the locker room.

“Oh, by the way, what did you think?” he asks.

“Of what?” She pulls her jumper on over her head, sending wispy blonde hairs flying out with static cling.

“Of Ms. Campbell,” he asks. 

“Oh,” she says. “Seems an exciting place, AAU. I wasn’t there long. Didn’t even get a good look at her, actually. We were in theatre the whole time.”

“She’s pretty,” Dom says. “Like how your mom’s friends are pretty, the ones that make you call them auntie even though you aren’t related.” 

Bernie laughs. “Didn’t think old ladies were your type.” 

“She’s _your_ age,” he warns. 

“I know what I am.”

“You can think something is pretty without wanting to touch it,” Dom says, slamming his locker closed. “You coming out for drinks? People are starting to think you’re some sort of weird religious zealot.” 

“Sorry,” she says. “My son’s coming home for dinner. I guess my shroud of mystery will have to remain intact.”

“Your loss,” he says. 

oooo

Mr. Hanssen tells her to report to AAU when she arrives on Monday morning. He’s waiting for her in that stiff way that he has, holding a teacup and a saucer, looking impeccable. He’s backed off a little, but she knows she’s not out of the woods yet. 

“Ms. Campbell requested you specifically,” he says. 

“Hmm,” Bernie says, noncommittally. “I’ll have to thank her.”

“When she returns from her vacation I’m sure you will,” he says. “You’ll be on AAU all week, Ms. Wolfe.”

She’s been around the hospital long enough now that she can recognize most everyone on sight. Mr. Di Lucca, Nurse Fletcher. Morven, of course. 

They give her a few moments to get settled in the office and to scrub up. She sets her bag down on Serena Campbell’s desk, hangs her coat on Serena Campbell’s coatrack. The desk is well used but organized. There’s a living plant near the window. A picture of a pretty girl around Charlotte’s age on the desk, but no other photographs. 

But the staff all seem happy enough, and not the kind of manic happiness of relief that comes when a bad boss is gone. They seem genuinely well-adjusted to the stressful environment, capable and trustworthy. They greet her warmly, get her caught up, defer to her better judgement. 

Also, she prefers the light blue scrubs loads over the maroon. 

“I hear you’ve been working all over,” Mr. Di Lucca says in an attempt to make small talk.

“Yes, here and there,” Bernie says. “I’ve not hit Darwin yet.” 

“I hear if you work on every ward, Mr. Hanssen gives you a gold star. Though that may just be a rumor,” Raf says with a grin.

“We shall have to see,” Bernie says. 

The week goes fast. She likes AAU, she’ll be sad to go. 

She sees Mr. Hanssen in the lift with his fine coat and his expensive briefcase. 

“And how was your tour in AAU?” he asks.

“Great,” she says, realizing that it was. “I liked it very much.”

“Did you?” he asks, somewhat surprised. “Stay on then.”

“What about Ms. Campbell?” she asks. 

“Serena Campbell is wise enough not to turn down an extra set of hands,” he says. 

“Then I will,” she says.

When the lift doors part, he says, “Good evening, Ms. Wolfe.” 

She gives him a tiny little wave. 

oooo

She spends the weekend with Marcus repainting their bedroom. The project was his idea. She has no interest in interior design, thinks of the room as no more than storage for her clothes and her sleeping body. But he seemed enthusiastic about it and things have been a little bit tense since her return. Bernie, like her daughter, is better in letters. She finds being open with him in person nearly impossible. And their private, intimate life has been rocky, too. She has to force herself to be interested in sex and she thinks he knows. She goes along with it, doesn’t complain, but she’s always a bit relieved when it’s over. 

Actually, she knows that he knows because he mentioned in passing that she might want to see her GP and she’d snapped that menopause was natural and that had been the end of that discussion. 

Maybe a little bit of change is good. A visual, concrete way to mark this new chapter in their lives. Bernie is perfectly willing to go along with any color he prefers, but the more amiable she is to his suggestions, the more upset he seems to get. 

They have a row in front of the paint chips because Marcus accuses her of not caring and he’s not wrong. She doesn’t care about paint colors, but she tells him she cares enough to come with him and see the project through and then he says that people don’t want to just be seen through, that’s not enough.

And then they stop, because he’s said too much. Because it’s not enough, not for either of them she suspects, but there’s not much to be done about it now, over twenty years in. 

So they choose a bluish grey that is a compromise to them both and go home.

Marcus does the bulk of the painting but Bernie is better at the detail work, sitting on the floor and running the brush along the baseboards, doing the fiddly bits along the ceiling. It’s not a large room so by Sunday night, they’re done. 

Charlotte comes home and says, “Two doctors and you can’t afford to hire painters?”

“That’s not the point,” Marcus says.

He doesn’t say what the point was and Charlotte doesn’t ask.

oooo

Serena Campbell is already in her office, her back to the door, when Bernie arrives. She’d used the office all week but that’s done now. She skirts the office entirely, slipping into the locker room and scrubbing up and shoving her things in an empty locker. 

When she comes out to look at the theatre list, Serena is at the nurses station. When she sees Bernie she smiles.

Bernie feels her heart speed up a little. She hadn’t known, really. She’d suspected but she hadn’t know.

Serena is beautiful. 

It’s the kind of beauty that makes Bernie curl in on herself in self-preservation, the kind that makes her stutter through the exchange of Serena thanking her for watching the ward, shaking her hand, asking her if she’ll stay on for a bit, like that wasn’t already the plan. 

When someone comes in, up from the ED, Bernie jumps, taking the patient. 

Tries to keep busy all day long.

When it’s quitting time, she pulls her phone from her scrubs and there’s a missed text from Marcus. He’ll be working late again. 

Serena finds her, tucked back between bay six and seven.

“Come on,” she says. “Get changed. We’re going to Albie’s.” 

Her tone is friendly, but leaves no room for argument. Bernie opens her mouth, closes it, gives a pained nod.

oooo

After that, she and Serena are friends. There’s no talk of going back to Keller, there is talk of utilizing Bernie’s trauma skills more. 

“I’ll speak to Hanssen about it,” Serena says. 

Three days later, he presents Bernie with a permanent contract. She doesn’t think it’s a coincidence. 

She talks to Marcus about it and he reacts quite oddly, with anger and resentment.

“You aren’t on holiday from the army,” he says. “Of course you take it. This is your life now.” 

She suspects they’d have fought if she’d accepted and not talked to him about it, but knows better than to say so. 

She brings it up to Serena, the spat, because Serena is always talking about her own life, little interesting tidbits that Bernie knows are left like breadcrumbs to lure her out. The urge to open up is foreign to Bernie but in fact she has to work not to tell Serena everything. There’s something about her that makes Bernie want to blossom and it’s not just her pretty face. Serena is so smart, quick and clever and funny. She’s an amazing surgeon, she does more in a work day than the rest of them do in a week. The competence is attractive and it’s a relief. She doesn’t have to be the major here, doesn’t have to be in charge at all. Can just do the doctoring. 

“I think it would be hard to go from being apart a lot to always being together,” Serena says thoughtfully. “I felt I always got on best with Edward when he was away.” She rolls her eyes. “That might have been because he was a right bastard.”

“Marcus and I were always mates,” Bernie says a little sadly. “But if I met him now I’m not sure we’d even be friends.”

As soon as she says it, she knows she’s said way too much. She barely knows this woman and yet here she is sitting in her cozy office with her, spilling her secrets. 

“People change, Bernie,” Serena says. “It’s great if you can grow together but I think just as often we grow apart. It’s not a failure, it’s just the way of things.” 

Bernie wrings her hands in her lap.

“Twenty years, Serena,” she says. “Twenty-four, actually.”

“I know,” Serena says sympathetically. “Maybe Edward did me a favor with his affairs. Made it quite easy to leave him.”

Marcus wouldn’t do that, though. Bernie thinks if anyone were to stray, it’d probably be her. If she were being completely honest with herself. 

“Hey,” Serena says now. “Are you hungry? Let’s get some dinner.” 

Nothing to rush home to, so she goes.

When she does get home, Marcus is already in bed with the lights out. She changes in the dark, washes her face and cleans her teeth in the bathroom with the door closed. When she slips into the bed, he rolls over so his back is to her.

oooo

By the time Serena’s car gets stolen, Bernie and Marcus aren’t having sex anymore. Not at all. Not trying, not pretending to try. 

Bernie knows, intellectually, that it’s a real problem but she can’t feel anything about it besides relief. 

She and Marcus stop checking in with one another throughout the day and now they both come home late. 

Sometimes Marcus sleeps on the couch or in Cameron’s empty bedroom.

Charlotte says nothing about it to Bernie.

So it’s easy, then, to offer to give Serena rides until the insurance money comes through and she can get a new car. Serena likes Bernie’s sporty little car, wants to put the top down even though it’s freezing cold. Sometimes Serena will text in the morning saying that she has a ride, but could use a lift home. Sometimes Bernie picks Serena up on the way in and Serena makes her way home from Albie’s in a taxi or with another obliging friend. 

Bernie gets a text on the morning of Arthur Digby’s funeral that Serena will meet her there. It’s just as well. Bernie’s been dragging her feet. It’s rough to lose someone no matter what the situation, but at least on deployment there’s a certain expectation of loss. 

This civilian loss seems to cut deeper somehow, though Bernie hardly knew the boy. Not really. 

She makes it right on time, Serena scolds her a little. 

And then, when their pagers all go off, Serena simply follows Bernie to her car because it’s habit now. 

It’s not until they're on the road, worrying about what they’re going to find at the hospital, that Serena starts laughing apropos of nothing.

“What?” Bernie says.

“I forgot to ask you for a lift,” she says, giggling. 

“Well,” Bernie says, eyeing her from the side, worriedly. “I think it’s safe to assume the answer is yes.”

“Sorry,” Serena says, wiping her eyes. “Struck me as funny. I think I’m having a weird day.”

“You don’t have to ask every time, you know,” Bernie says softly. “You always have a ride with me.” 

Serena smiles at her. “Okay.” 

oooo

In a row the following happens: Serena buys a car, Hanssen makes her co-lead of AAU and secures them funding for a trauma bay, Marcus asks her to move out of the house.

Bernie realizes that the most time she spent talking to Serena about things outside of their work was in the car and now she can’t figure out how to approach telling her that her personal life is imploding. 

When they get to the end of a hectic shift, Bernie realizes that she’s just gotta bite the bullet. Serena is putting on her jacket in their office, ready to walk out when Bernie closes the door and says, “Marcus asked me to move out.”

Serena freezes, stares at her with one arm in her coat, one arm out. After a few moments, she slips her other arm in. 

“If you were anyone else, I’d take you to Albie’s,” Serena says. “But I have to get home to Jason and you don’t really like going to the bar, do you?”

Bernie lifts one shoulder, admits to nothing.

“All right,” Serena says. “You’ll just have to come home with me.”

“Serena,” Bernie says, shaking her head.

“When does this start?” Serena asks. “When do you have to leave?”

“I left yesterday,” Bernie says.

“And where are you staying?”

Bernie’s shoulder lifts listlessly again.

“Because you worked the night shift and then you were back on days so you just slept in the on call room, didn’t you?” Serena says. “Listen carefully, I have to get home to Jason. If you don’t follow me home, I’ll have to come find you when he’s sorted and you and I both know I’ll have much less good cheer so it does us both good if you just do as I say.”

Bernie nods. “Understood.” 

“I’m serious, Berenice,” she says, picking up her purse and slinging it over her shoulder. “If you’re not at my door within an hour, it’ll get ugly.” 

And she slams the door behind her.

Had that gone well? Hard to say, really.

She does as she’s told, though. Parks on Serena’s street. Knocks on her door. Jason is the one who answers and he says, “Oh hello, Dr. Bernie. Auntie Serena said to expect you.”

“And here I am, as promised,” she says.

“Auntie Serena is just upstairs, tidying your room.” 

“She’s… what?” Bernie asks. Jason stands aside to let her in and closes the door behind them. 

“Up the stairs and to the left,” he says, and then returns the lounge to watch whatever it is that he’s watching. 

She climbs the stairs, turns left. There’s only one open door with the light on and that’s where she finds Serena, slipping a pillow into a pillow case. 

She’s never been up the stairs before. She looks around.

Elinor’s room. 

“Oh good,” Serena says at the sight of her. “I really didn’t want to have to leave again.”

“Jason said you were tidying my room,” Bernie says. “I didn’t come here… I didn’t expect…”

“No?” Serena says. “Would you rather get a hotel room and hemorrhage money while you look for a flat?”

“I hadn’t thought, really,” Bernie mutters. “It all… happened rather quickly, I think.” 

Serena sits down on the bed, a double, and pats the taut quilt beside her. Bernie drops her purse, sits next to her, only inches between them. 

“Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened?” Serena offers. 

“Um,” Bernie says. “I mean… you know he wanted me to leave the army and come back, so I did. And it was… not what I expected, maybe. Or maybe it was exactly what I expected. It wasn’t easy and we didn’t… quite figure it out, I think. It’s his house, well, his mother’s house, so I guess he has every right to ask me to be the one to leave.”

“What about counseling?” Serena asks.

“We haven’t… I’m not sure either of us are really interested in fixing it, actually,” Bernie admits. 

Serena tilts her head up, looks at the string of fairy lights that are strung along the ceiling, making the room glow cozy and warm. 

“Do you think he’s been unfaithful?” Serena asks. 

Bernie hums low in her throat. She’s not sure. There was a time she’d thought better of him, but now she knows they’re both just people prone to making mistakes. 

“Maybe,” she says finally. 

Serena nods. “You know,” she says. “I consider you a very good friend.” 

Bernie nods, heat on the back of her neck. 

“Just like I know I can always ask you for a ride, you should know that you can always stay here. Should the need arise,” Serena says, looking at her own feet. 

“And if Elinor wants her room back?” Bernie asks lightly.

“And if pigs should fly?” Serena asks. “There’s a plate for you in the oven. I’ll finish up here.” 

oooo

They caravan a lot now. Just makes sense. Serena gives Bernie the spare key to her car and Bernie does the same. It’s Serena that drives Bernie to the house that first weekend, who helps her pack up more of her things and really, really leave. Who spends the whole hour they’re there shooting icy glares in Marcus’s general direction. Who walks out of the house with her hand on the small of Bernie’s back. 

Bernie has to remind herself, then, not to get confused. Not to muddle friendship with other things. 

She’s meant to be looking for flats but it's three weeks in and she hasn’t started. Serena won’t take rent but she does give Bernie a list of chores. Groceries to pick up, odds and ends to mend around the house. She has her pull weeds and carry heavy boxes down from the attic. 

They eat dinner together, the three of them, nearly every night.

Bernie treats the room like she’s a guest. She changes nothing about the layout or the decor. She puts her clothes in the wardrobe because it’s mostly empty already but she takes care to leave Elinor’s things alone. She and Jason share a bathroom and she tries really hard to get onto a schedule, she does, but sometimes she forgets and it’s not long before Serena just moves all of Bernie’s things out of the hall bathroom and into the one in her bedroom. 

“Save us all the trouble,” she mutters. Bernie hangs her head, doesn’t argue. And Serena is right to do it, because everything gets easier after that. She doesn’t mind the invitation into Serena’s bedroom either. 

oooo

She starts looking for flats when she starts dreaming about Serena. Intense dreams, dreams that wake her up with a gasp, her hand under her vest, gripping at her own skin. 

Jason sees her looking at the adverts in the paper, tells her that she’ll find more accurate and up to date listings on the internet. Serena is scrambling eggs on the stove, turns to look over her shoulder to see what they’re talking about.

She’s quite pretty in the mornings. She looks beautiful all done up but Bernie likes her just as well with a clean face in her dressing gown. The sun is hitting her just so, Bernie has to look away.

“What are you two talking about?” she demands. 

“A flat for Bernie,” Jason says. 

“Why do you need a flat?” Serena asks. 

“I just… I just thought… maybe it was time?” Bernie asks. 

“You’ve only just come to stay,” Serena says.

“It’s been two months,” Bernie counters.

“But-”

“The eggs are burning,” Jason interrupts. Serena turns back to the stove, prods at them so hard that egg goes out of the pan onto the stove top. She turns the burner off, bangs the spatula on the side of the pan hard. 

“I feel bad not contributing,” Bernie says into the tense silence.

“You _do_ contribute,” Serena says.

“Not monetarily,” Bernie mumbles. 

“I don’t pay rent either,” Jason points out. “Am I to get my own flat one day?”

“No,” Serena says. Well, bellows, really. “No,” she says again, a little more calmly. 

“I don’t understand the social etiquette of this situation,” Jason says to no one in particular.

“There’s not one,” Bernie says. “This is a bit unusual.”

“Oh it is not,” Serena says. She opens a cabinet door to get a bowl and scrapes the eggs into it. “Bernie can stay as long as she likes because we’re happy here together.”

She sets the bowl on the table. 

“Aren’t we? I guess I just assumed.”

“We are,” Bernie says. “We can talk about this later. I won’t look. We can talk about it later, Serena.” 

Serena nods. Sits down. Plates out breakfast for her nephew and then Bernie and then herself with that strange, distraught look on her face. 

They do talk about it later, later that same day. Serena catches Bernie as she’s coming out of Serena’s ensuite. She’d been brushing her teeth before bed. 

“Say,” Serena says. “I can imagine it to be all a bit overwhelming for you. I didn’t mean to jump on you.”

Bernie stares at her, perplexed. “What?”

“Your life has had a lot of change,” Serena says. “If you want to leave, if that’s what you need to do, then of course you can do it.” 

Bernie leans against the doorframe of the bathroom and says, “I don’t want to leave.”

“I mean, I gave you half my ward, you live with me now. I can see how you might get sick of me,” Serena says with a hollow sounding laugh.

“I’m not sick of you,” Bernie says. “I thought you might be sick of me.”

“No,” Serena says. “Not at all. Bernie, not at all.”

“Okay,” Bernie says. “But you’ll tell me if that changes?”

“Will you tell me?” 

Serena sticks out her hand. 

Bernie takes it, rubs her thumb across Serena’s soft skin.

They shake on it.

oooo

Bernie prefers winter, truth be told. It seems things always go pear-shaped in the summer. 

Today they’ve almost lost Fletch.

It’s Bernie who sinks to the ground, Serena who follows suit. Bernie feels weepy and adrift. She feels not herself. She feels like her insides are prickly and hot, she feels as if she might just float up and away. 

But Serena anchors her in a way that no one else ever has. When Serena sits next to her, she feels better. When Serena puts her hand on Bernie’s arm, it tethers her back to this place, this time. 

Bernie turns to her, looks at her pink cheeks, her mussed hair, her pretty mouth. 

“Thank you,” she manages. 

“For what?”

Bernie laughs, it comes out a like a sob. “For everything.” 

Serena leans in, presses her lips to Bernie’s cheek. “My fearless major,” she whispers and leans to kiss the other cheek. “My big macho trauma surgeon.” She pulls back just enough to meet Bernie’s eye. “My favourite girl.” 

The smile drops off of Serena’s lips right before she kisses Bernie on the lips. She’s scared too.

And she does look terrified when she pulls back. But all Bernie can feel is relief, gushing through her like a water through a broken dam. She feels it too, Bernie thinks, euphorically. Oh god, she feels it too.

Bernie kisses her, kisses her hard, kisses her long, kisses her well.

oooo

Sometimes Charlotte spends the night with them. She still lives with Marcus, but she says she doesn’t like Marcus’s new girlfriend. She’s too young and too loud and laughs like a shrill bird. Charlotte and Serena get on like a house on fire, so usually once a week, usually on a weeknight, Charlotte will appear at their door. 

She says Elinor’s bed is more comfortable than hers at home, anyway. Sometimes in the night, once Serena has drifted off, Bernie will sneak out of bed, drift down the hall, slip into Elinor’s room. She’ll slide right into bed with Charlotte. Stroke her pretty hair, watch her sleep. Sometimes she even wakes her up.

“Mum,” Charlotte complains, but she always rolls into her mother’s open arms, is happy enough to have a cuddle. Bernie can’t get back what she’s missed, but she can have this now. 

“Who’s prettier?” Bernie asks. “Dad’s girlfriend or mine?”

“Yours,” Charlotte mumbles. 

“Who’s smarter?”

“Yours,” Charlotte says with a snicker. “By a mile.”

“Who loves you more? Dad’s girlfriend or mine?” Bernie says.

“Yours, mum,” Charlotte says. “Go to sleep you nutter.” 

“All right,” Bernie says, giving her a squeeze. “Can I stay in here for a while?”

“Only until you start to snore,” Charlotte says. “Then I’m booting you back to Serena.” 

“Deal,” Bernie says. 

But Bernie wakes up in Elinor’s bed alone, just like the first few months she lived in this house. It’s morning now and she shuffles down the hall. The bed she shares with Serena is empty, too. It’s still quite early, but she finds both Serena and Charlotte downstairs in the kitchen. Serena has her arm around Charlotte’s shoulders, says something softly into Charlotte’s ear and it makes Charlotte giggle. 

“My two best girls,” Bernie says. 

They both turn around, look at her with matching grins.

“That’s us,” Serena says. 

Charlotte just blows her a kiss.


End file.
